


A Loyal Heart

by phoenixquest



Series: Ryndoril and Ondolemar [15]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Drinking, Hangover, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2595890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryndoril gets too involved while trying to figure out the Forsworn in Markarth, yet an even greater trouble awaits him when he returns to the Companions. Rated for later chapters. All 7 chapters are written, I'm just uploading them slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“What in Tamriel are you wearing?” Ondolemar snorted, staring up at Ryndoril. The Bosmer had just walked up to him in the Keep, looking extremely proud of himself and wearing a feathered tricorne hat on his head.

“My new hat,” Ryndoril said proudly, grinning at the Altmer. “I found it in a bandit camp.”

“You look ridiculous,” Ondolemar said, though he couldn’t help smirking in amusement. The Bosmer really _did_ look ridiculous with the feathered hat on, but it was in an oddly endearing sort of way.

“I look amazing,” Ryndoril argued, adjusting the hat. “You’re just jealous.”

“Right,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “Did you come here for a reason, or simply to show off your poor wardrobe choice?”

“Here,” Ryndoril replied, taking the hat off his head. “You don’t have to be jealous.” He put it on Ondolemar’s head instead, over the Thalmor’s hood, then laughed at the image it made.

“You’re in a very _good_ mood today,” Ondolemar said dryly, removing the hat and setting it on the table next to him.

“Hard not to be, around you,” Ryndoril said, his tone more serious though the grin remained on his face. Ondolemar reddened at the compliment; he still wasn’t used to hearing such things. “What are you working on? You’re not at your desk.” Ondolemar was in fact sitting at a table off to the side of the main hall of the Keep, poring over a stack of papers.

“A favor of sorts for the Jarl,” Ondolemar replied. “I didn’t feel like taking this mess back to my room. Are you staying awhile now?” Ryndoril’s face became more serious.

“A day,” Ryndoril said, taking the hat and putting it back on his own head. “I have some business in Whiterun to take care of.”

“Not the bloody Companions again, I hope,” Ondolemar said, frowning.

“Yes, actually,” Ryndoril said sheepishly. “It’s…well, kind of a long story.” He seemed very hesitant, and it made Ondolemar suspicious.

“Ryndoril, what is going on?” he demanded. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Ryndoril said quickly. “I mean, not really. Ugh – I can’t get into it,” he said apologetically, his eyes begging the Altmer to believe him. “Just…don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I’m worried about it,” Ondolemar said. “I am still waiting for you to get me more information about the Forsworn attack!”

“I know, I know!” Ryndoril said quickly, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I’m supposed to meet someone about it tonight. Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you out in the cold, I promise.” It had been a week since Ondolemar had asked him about the attack, and Ryndoril had gathered what information he could. He’d only left briefly to take care of a bandit problem for the Jarl, but upon returning to the city he found an urgent letter from the Companions.

“Are the Companions really more important than what I’ve asked of you?” Ondolemar asked, his sneering tone not quite concealing the real question of whether the Companions were more important than Ondolemar himself.

“Of course they aren’t,” Ryndoril said quietly, and after glancing around quickly to ensure no one was watching, bent over to press a quick kiss to the top of Ondolemar’s head. “You’re always more important to me, love, you know that,” he whispered before pulling back.

“I don’t see why you need to run off to them, then,” Ondolemar said, though he felt a _bit_ better at the Bosmer’s attention.

“I just…they’re nice to me, Ondolemar,” Ryndoril said softly, his voice a bit hurt. “They’re my friends…and if they need me for something, I want to help them.” Ondolemar sighed; he hadn’t meant to upset the elf, but…the _Companions_!

“I certainly hope they care about you as much as you seem to care about them,” the Altmer replied, shaking his head. He doubted it, but there was no way he’d convince Ryndoril of that; the Bosmer was trusting and obviously quite loyal.

“Just don’t be upset with me,” Ryndoril pleaded quietly.

“I’m not, Ryn,” Ondolemar assured him with a sigh. “So you will be around this evening, then?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril nodded, offering the Altmer a smile then. “I’ve got to meet with someone about the Forsworn stuff, but…I can come back after.”

“See that you do,” Ondolemar smirked. “I shall be waiting.” Ryndoril’s smile grew.

“Then I definitely will,” the elf laughed. “I better go clean up and everything. I’ll see you tonight.” He tipped his hat, though the effect wasn’t very elegant with the tricorne, and Ondolemar was hard-pressed to stop a fit of laughter at the comical image.

“Good day, sailor,” he teased the Bosmer, unable to stop that small jab at the Bosmer’s headwear. Ryndoril laughed, squeezing Ondolemar’s shoulder as he walked away.

It was always good to have the wood elf around, he had to admit.

*****

That night, Ondolemar waited…and waited…and _waited_. It was very unlike Ryndoril to keep him waiting like this, and he was starting to become slightly worried. A small, nagging voice in the back of his mind wondered if the Bosmer had deemed his business in Whiterun too important and simply left.

Surely not, though, he reasoned. Maybe he’d only known the elf a few months, but he _knew_ Ryndoril would never leave without telling him, especially after promising to see him.

Eventually, long past when the Bosmer would usually have arrived, Ondolemar couldn’t stand sitting still and waiting anymore. He got up, telling his guards he was leaving as he walked out of his rooms and strode through the Keep. He quickly made his way across the city, knocking harshly on the door to Vlindrel Hall. It occurred to him suddenly how silly he would look if the bewildered Bosmer answered, but it didn’t matter; he had a bad feeling about all of this, and it was making him act rashly.

Argis was the one to open the door a few moments later, looking sleepy and surprised.

“Commander?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. “What are you doing here?”

“Is Ryndoril here?” Ondolemar demanded.

“No,” Argis said, sounding confused. “He told me he was spending the night with you.”

“Are you quite sure he isn’t here?” Ondolemar asked, angry _and_ fearful now.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” Argis nodded. “You two have a fight or something?”

“Of course not,” Ondolemar snapped impatiently. “He never showed up when he was supposed to.”

“Well, you’re welcome to come in and look for yourself,” Argis said, holding the door open and standing aside. Ondolemar snorted.

“Aren’t you supposed to _guard_ this house from unwanted visitors?” Ondolemar asked. Argis shrugged.

“He told me you’re always supposed to be allowed in,” Argis replied. “I just follow orders.” This made Ondolemar pause.

“He did?”

“Well, yeah,” Argis said, raising an eyebrow at the Altmer. “It isn’t like it’s a secret how he feels about you, you know.” Ondolemar flushed.

“It _is_ a secret, Nord, and if you value your life outside prison you best ensure it stays that way,” the Altmer snapped. Argis rolled his eyes.

“I meant to me,” the housecarl clarified. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone. I like _him_.” Ondolemar sneered at the Nord before striding into the house.

“Argis?” a sleepy female voice called, and a moment later Lydia came out into the room wearing nothing but her undergarments. “Who was – oh!” She spotted Ondolemar and immediately reddened, scurrying back into the bedroom. Ondolemar merely huffed impatiently – as though _he_ would be bothered by it. Argis snickered as Ondolemar looked into the alchemy room and enchanting room.

Not seeing the Bosmer there at all, he went into the bedroom, finding nothing there either. He was definitely starting to worry now.

“Wasn’t he doing some kind of favor for you?” Argis asked the anxious Altmer. “Maybe it just took longer than he thought.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Ondolemar snapped. “How long could it take?”

“I don’t know,” Argis shrugged, unfazed by the Altmer’s annoyed attitude. “You’re the one that gave it to him. I just think you’re overreacting.”

“Well, lucky for me, I don’t give a damn what you think,” Ondolemar sneered, quickly striding for the door again. “If you see him, let him know I am still _waiting_.” With that, he slammed the door behind him. “Bloody useless housecarls,” he muttered to himself, hurrying back down the steps.

The Bosmer was not at the inn, nor did Ondolemar find him wandering the streets. Thinking that perhaps he’d just missed Ryndoril, he finally gave up and went back to the Keep, hoping he’d find the Bosmer in his room waiting for him.

His room, however, was empty, as was the rest of the Keep. As late as it was, there was little else he could do. Trusting to the fact that the Bosmer would surely sneak in and wake him if he ever came, he lay down and tried to get to sleep. Perhaps it _was_ something to do with the mission Ondolemar had given him; perhaps it had just been more than the elf expected.

He started to feel slightly guilty about his interaction with Ryndoril earlier in the day. It was hardly fair to make the Bosmer feel bad about having so many things to worry about doing, even if Ondolemar didn’t approve of his other commitments. Then again, Ryndoril had promised to help him _first_!

 _And you know he’d help you above anyone else, whatever the circumstances,_ a snarky voice in his head spoke up. _All you did was make him feel harassed._ Ondolemar promptly told the voice to shut up; he didn’t need anything else keeping him awake and concerned. And anyway, he’d apologize the next time he saw Ryndoril. 

That thought alone was odd, he realized; the Bosmer was really about the _only_ one Ondolemar had ever sincerely apologized to.

He finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, hoping Ryndoril would have come to him by morning.

*****

By the next evening, Ondolemar was nearly frantic. He’d heard rumors that the Jarl’s Thane had been imprisoned, accused of the recent murders in the city – a man had been murdered again just the night before. The Altmer knew that wasn’t true; perhaps Ryndoril would kill in self-defense, but he was no murderer.

No one would tell him whether Ryndoril was truly _in_ the mines or not; the guards said it was none of his business, and no matter how he tried to argue with them, nothing came of it. He was almost tempted to go to the Jarl about it, but knew that no matter what position he may hold within the Thalmor or the city, he would never get a murderer out of jail on his word alone.

The Jarl wasn’t pleased with him anyway; the papers he’d been asked to go over had yielded no information for the man. They were assorted documents and letters that the Jarl’s guards had gathered, supposedly with answers to the Forsworn issue – the Altmer had known before he even began that they would give him nothing useful, and he’d been correct. Rather than taking this to mean his guards weren’t doing their jobs, the Jarl had accused Ondolemar of being incompetent instead.

He really didn’t like the idea of Ryndoril sitting down in that prison mine, though. Gods knew what kind of criminals he’d be stuck with; Ondolemar knew there were convicted Forsworn down in the mines at the least.

The Commander had been desperate enough to return to the Bosmer’s house, asking after him again; Argis still hadn’t seen him, though the man seemed worried as well. He did promise to see what he could find out, assuring Ondolemar he’d let him know if he heard anything. The Altmer didn’t believe him; he knew their dislike was mutual.

Without any idea of what else to do, Ondolemar sat down to his work in his room, ensuring his guards knew he was not to be bothered unless it was important. Willing himself to concentrate, he set to his papers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Argis find an injured Ryndoril stumbling out of the Markarth ruins. After Ondolemar helps heal him, he explains the situation.

“Getting colder by the day,” Argis commented, walking hand-in-hand with Lydia through Markarth. It was after nightfall, and the city guards were changing shifts, leaving the city mostly peaceful for such a trek.

“It is,” Lydia agreed. “It’s funny, how many times Ryndoril has complained about the cold, you know.” Argis chuckled.

“Does he?” he asked.

“Well, not really,” Lydia said, shaking her head. “To be fair, he hardly ever actually _complains_. Just stands and shivers until his teeth chatter and I feel bad for him.”

“That happens a lot with people who didn’t grow up here,” Argis replied with a grin. “But fortunately,” he added with a mischievous look, pulling Lydia aside up a set of stairs, “us Nords know how to keep warm.” Lydia flushed as Argis pushed her against a stone city wall, out of sight of the path below them. He kissed her deeply, and she finally pushed him away, almost giggling.

“Stop that,” she ordered him. “We have a house to go to, you know.”

“A house our Thane could return to at any moment and spoil our fun,” Argis argued, now kissing the woman’s neck.

“Yes, and this is just the most private place in the world,” Lydia replied sarcastically. Though they were quite hidden from the city, there were _two_ doors that opened up into the little alcove they stood in. “Until someone opens a door.”

“But those doors don’t open,” Argis said, grinning at her as he kept her shoulders in his firm grasp. “The Hall of the Dead is only ever entered from in the Keep, and the other door is to the ruins of the city – no one goes in there.” Lydia laughed.

“Are you seriously trying to seduce me out here in the middle of the night?” she asked him, shaking her head.

“What? I thought ladies liked romantic starlit evenings,” Argis laughed.

“Maybe,” Lydia replied. “On a bedroll. Or at the least, some _grass_. Not hard stone.”

“I’ll put that idea to the test another time, then,” Argis said. Lydia rolled her eyes, but grinned in amusement. “Ah, Lydia,” he sighed, his tone becoming softer as he gazed at the slightly shorter woman. “I’m so glad I met you.”

“You ought to be,” Lydia smiled. “I’m fantastic.” Argis laughed before bending his head to kiss her once more, keeping their lips pressed together far longer than strictly necessary.

A sudden noise made them jump apart; Lydia’s hand went for her sword just as Argis reached for his axe. It was instinct in them both, though neither had worn their weapons out for an evening stroll. The sound was more insistent now, coming from one of the doors.

“Uh…which one was that again?” Lydia whispered, staring uneasily at the door. “The Hall of the Dead?”

“No,” Argis said, sounding equally uneasy. “The ruins.” He didn’t know what sort of thing could possibly lurk in the ruins of Markarth after all these years, but he was sure he didn’t want to find out when he didn’t have his weapon or even proper armor. The two were about to turn and run in unison when the door opened; Argis immediately stepped in front of Lydia to shield her. A heartbeat later, however, a red-haired wood elf stumbled out of the door and fell to his knees, clearly exhausted and injured.

“Ryndoril!” Lydia gasped, forgetting his title in her surprise and shoving Argis out of the way impatiently before hurrying to him.

“Close the door,” Ryndoril moaned quietly, and Argis hastened to obey. “And be quiet. Don’t want the guards to hear…”

“What happened, my Thane?” Lydia asked, kneeling next to the elf with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right? What were you doing in there? Did you really go to prison?”

“Let him breathe, Lyd,” Argis said, staring at the mer in shock. “Gods. I don’t even want to know how you got in there.”

“Long story,” Ryndoril managed, finally looking up at them. He had two black eyes and a split lip, a long cut running down his cheek. “Just…get me home. Don’t let the guards see. I beg you.”

“Right,” Lydia said, keeping her voice down. “Come on,” she added, helping the Bosmer to his feet. He winced at the movement, but stayed quiet.

“I’m going to go find that Thalmor,” Argis said, shaking his head. “He’s been going mad, worrying about you, and you said he’s a healer.”

“Just…be careful,” Ryndoril said, clutching his side now that he was standing almost fully upright. They could both see blood covering his ragged clothes. “The guards…can’t know.”

“I understand,” Argis said at once. “Lydia – “

“I’ve got him,” Lydia assured the man. “Go.” Argis hurried away, fully trusting in Lydia’s ability to keep their Thane safe.

He asked around in the Keep until he found the elf’s rooms. Once there, however, the Thalmor guards were less than cooperative. He didn’t want to mention Ryndoril to them, but was getting desperate.

“I’ve told you, he’s busy,” the guard said in a final tone. “Go away and return in the morning. He will see you then.”

“I want to report someone for Talos worship!” Argis blurted out, dying a little inside for even saying such a thing. Whatever his Thane may believe, Argis still hated the Thalmor for tracking down Talos worshippers. The guard paused, surprised.

“Well,” the guard replied. “I suppose the Commander _would_ like to be bothered for that. Wait here; I’ll get him.” The second guard stood and stared at Argis, looking mildly curious but mostly bored. A few moments later, the Thalmor Commander appeared, walking toward them.

“Ah, it’s you,” Ondolemar said, looking vaguely suspicious. “I am told you have a matter of Talos worship to discuss with me?”

“Yes,” Argis said urgently. “But…can we speak privately? I…don’t want anyone else to…well…” he trailed off, unsure what he was even trying to say but hoping the Altmer would do it anyway.

“Very well,” Ondolemar sneered. “Cyndil, Rolain, I will return shortly. You may both retire for the evening.”

“Yes, my lord,” the elves replied in unison, turning and walking off. Argis walked over to a secluded corner of the hallway, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone else around. Ondolemar finally followed him.

“I presume this has little to do with Talos or any manner of worship,” Ondolemar said in a low voice, his urgent tone telling Argis he’d guessed the importance of the matter.

“No,” Argis said, eyes still darting around frantically. “It’s – “

“There is no one around,” Ondolemar told him impatiently. “I would hear them if they were. You may speak freely. Is…is he all right?”

“I think so,” Argis said quickly. “He’s…well, he’s injured, but he’s alive. He wanted to be taken to the house, but – he says the guards can’t see him.” Argis watched the color drain from the mer’s face.

“So he _was_ imprisoned,” Ondolemar whispered.

“I guess so,” Argis said, “but no one’s ever escaped that mine. I don’t…I don’t know. But, well, you wanted to know, and maybe – maybe you can heal him?”

“Yes, of course,” Ondolemar agreed quickly. “Where is he?”

“He was up by the door to the ruins,” Argis said, “but Lydia was going to try and get him to the house.”

“Let’s go,” Ondolemar said at once, and the two strode off immediately. Ondolemar was quite worried; _had_ the elf murdered someone? If he had, there was sure to be a good reason, but it was going to make it difficult for Ryndoril to stay in the city.

The two caught up with Ryndoril and Lydia just as the pair were trying to climb the final steps to Ryndoril’s house. The wood elf was panting with pain.

“Come on, my Thane, it’s not much farther,” Lydia said encouragingly, keeping her voice quiet.

“Divines,” Ondolemar murmured, hurrying over to them. “Ryndoril,” he breathed. The Bosmer turned to look up at him, surprise in his eyes alongside the pain.

“Hey,” Ryndoril said, managing a small smile. “Argis, you have the key? I don’t have…all my stuff was taken.”

“Of course,” Argis said, pushing past everyone and hurrying up to the door to unlock it. 

“Let me,” Ondolemar said, putting his arm around the wood elf. Lydia looked hesitant for a second, but let the other elf take her Thane. Ondolemar quickly pulled Ryndoril up into his arms, carrying him up the stairs.

“I’m not a maiden in need of rescue,” Ryndoril breathed slowly, wincing as he was jostled.

“No, but you were never going to make it up those stairs,” Ondolemar said tightly, trying to sound teasing but failing in his worry. He got Ryndoril into the bedroom, settling him on the bed.

“Do you need anything else, my Thane?” Argis asked.

“Something to eat,” Ryndoril said. “And wine would be nice.”

“Of course,” Argis replied, and he and Lydia hurried away.

“Oh, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, letting his worry show now that the Nords were gone. “What happened to you?”

“I’ll be all right, love,” Ryndoril replied, reaching for Ondolemar’s hand. The Altmer noticed it, too, was covered in blood. “You’ll heal me,” he added with a small smile. Ondolemar breathed out a laugh.

“Cocky little elf,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course I will.” He helped the Bosmer get the blood-soaked clothing off, covering him with one of the bed linens for privacy. Ondolemar felt sick at the extent to which his lover was injured; bruises and scrapes all over him, and a large gash in his side that seemed to have stopped bleeding but still looked incredibly nasty. “How did you get hurt like this? How did you even escape?” He started at once with healing the elf.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Ryndoril promised, “just let me have something to eat first. I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.”

“Really?” Ondolemar asked, shocked. “Why not?”

“They don’t feed the prisoners often,” Ryndoril said, his face clouding over. “It’s…it’s terrible down there.” Ondolemar paused in his healing to grasp Ryndoril’s hand, squeezing his fingers.

“You’re all right now,” Ondolemar murmured, staring at the elf and his two blackened eyes.

“For now,” Ryndoril sighed. “I may have to leave the city for good. I don’t know.”

“No,” Ondolemar said at once. “I will personally speak to the Jarl. You will not – “

“Love, stop,” Ryndoril interrupted, shaking his head. “You…don’t understand. Just don’t worry about it.” Ondolemar wanted to reply harshly, asking how he was supposed to not worry about the possibility of never seeing the elf again, but Ryndoril looked so worn, so tired…he just couldn’t bring himself to make it worse.

“All right,” Ondolemar said instead. “Shut your eyes, let me heal those bruises,” he added, moving his hands up to the Bosmer’s face. He was just finishing up when Argis came back in carrying a tray, Lydia bringing two bottles of wine behind him.

“You are amazing,” Ryndoril said with a small smile at his housecarl. “Thank you, Argis.”

“Of course, my Thane,” Argis said, still sounding worried. “Is there anything else? Are you doing all right?”

“I’m feeling better, yes,” Ryndoril said, his gaze flicking back up to Ondolemar. “Let me eat…and then I need to explain everything, all right?”

“Understood,” Lydia nodded. “We’ll just wait out there,” she added, and she and Argis turned to leave the room. Ryndoril smiled at his housecarl; he loved that she could judge the situation like that and realize he wanted to be alone with Ondolemar.

The Altmer helped him sit up and arranged the tray for him so he could eat, uncorking a wine bottle for the Bosmer and the other for himself.

“Is there anywhere else that you need healing?” Ondolemar asked as Ryndoril began to eat, slowly at first and then ravenously.

“No, you took care of it,” Ryndoril said with a smile after he swallowed a bite. “I just need a bath, but…later.” 

Ondolemar was quiet while the elf ate, giving him peace and simply looking at him. He looked exhausted, sure, but there was something underneath that…something that wasn’t quite right at all. Although anxious to know what it was, Ondolemar held himself in check; the Bosmer would tell him anything, he knew, if he only asked, and Ryndoril needed some time to eat and rest.

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril finally smiled, finishing off his bread and stew. “I can tell your curiosity is killing you.” Ondolemar smiled sheepishly.

“Am I so obvious?” he asked.

“Probably just to me,” Ryndoril winked.

“Better?” Ondolemar asked.

“A bit, yeah,” Ryndoril said with a small smile, moving the tray off his lap. “I’ll get Argis and Lydia – “ Ondolemar interrupted him, putting a hand on the Bosmer’s shoulder to still him.

“I’ve got it,” Ondolemar said. “Rest, Ryn.”

Ryndoril waited for the three to return, not exactly looking forward to the conversation. It had been a very rough day, and he was so uncertain of his future, but those closest to him here needed to know.

Once everyone was settled in the room – Ondolemar had positioned himself on the bed with his hand grasping Ryndoril’s, to the Bosmer’s surprise – Ryndoril began his tale.

He’d gone to meet a man named Eltrys the night before, a man who’d promised to help him find answers to the Forsworn issue. Eltrys had seemed convinced that something deeper than a rogue Forsworn attack was going on, and he wanted Ryndoril to help him root it out.

After looking around a bit, Ryndoril had sufficient information – and what he’d learned was not good. He hurried back to tell Eltrys what he’d found out and found the man dead, several city guards waiting to arrest Ryndoril and pin the murders on him.

“Shrine of Talos, by the way,” Ryndoril added at this point, looking to Ondolemar. “It’s right – “

“I know,” Ondolemar said, making a face. “There is nothing I can do about it, but believe me, I know of it.”

“Well, that’s where they took me,” Ryndoril sighed. “I tried to fight, but they hit me over the head…when I woke up, I was in the mines.”

Talking to a fellow prisoner, he’d learned that Madanach, the leader of the Forsworn, was held in the prison as well. It explained what the guards had said about him having plenty of time to talk to ‘the King in Rags’, as the man was known. It had all been a setup of Madanach’s, who was working at the time for the Silver-Bloods.

Ryndoril had spent the day talking with the other prisoners. A couple of them hadn’t even been Forsworn, at least not when they came into the prison. One had merely been a thief. Nonetheless, they were all treated the same – mine ore until they drop, and get fed once a week, if that.

“Disgusting,” Ondolemar sneered. “These Nords think _us_ unjust – _we_ do not treat petty thieves so horribly.”

Finally, however, Ryndoril had managed to get past Madanach’s orcish guard, heading down a winding tunnel to find the man himself. He’d heard the stories of the other Forsworn prisoners, and how unjustly the Nords had treated them – he couldn’t help but sympathize, though he privately thought that killing more innocent people was hardly the answer to the problem.

Once he reached Madanach, the man had done little but mock him. He seemed to think elves were no better than Nords, and was openly regretful that his plot to have Ryndoril disposed of for sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong had been unsuccessful. Though Ryndoril had tried to reason with him, tried to explain himself, nothing had worked – and then eventually the man had attacked him, wanting to silence him once and for all.

“I had no choice,” Ryndoril said, his voice hollow now. “I…I hadn’t killed anyone to get sent to prison, and I didn’t want to become a murderer like that. But…”

“He would’ve killed you, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured, squeezing the Bosmer’s hand comfortingly.

“No one blames you,” Lydia added. “Come on. I’ve seen you kill in self-defense dozens of times.”

“But it was different,” Ryndoril insisted, upset that he’d had to resort to what he did. “Especially knowing that with Madanach gone, the Silver-Bloods have no incentive to keep the rest of them alive. They…all of them. They’re going to end up dead because of me.”

“It’s _not_ your fault,” Lydia said firmly. “You did what you had to do.”

“But they were just people,” Ryndoril sighed. “People thinking of their families and trying to do what was right.”

“So were you,” Argis put in. “You couldn’t help it the madman attacked you.” Ryndoril was quiet for several long moments, thinking that over.

“How did you escape, then?” Ondolemar finally asked. “If you’d killed Madanach…”

“ _He_ had an escape,” Ryndoril said, bitterness entering his voice now. “He had a key to a tunnel that led into the ruins and out that door. It’s how he passed orders to others, to have that agent kill that woman in the market. He was getting tired of listening to Thonar’s orders, and was planning to escape with the rest of them. I have the letter,” he added, and pointed toward the paper that had come off with his prisoner’s garb. “He was writing it when I interrupted him.”

“And now, the Silver-Bloods are blameless, the King in Rags is dead, and you are still on the hook for several murders you did not commit,” Ondolemar summed up.

“And for breaking out of prison,” Lydia pointed out.

“I’m hoping the letter might help,” Ryndoril sighed, shaking his head, “but I have no idea. I…I could very well have to leave Markarth for good.” His fingers tightened involuntarily on Ondolemar’s then, and the Altmer squeezed them back.

“No, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “There has to be something that can be done. Half the damn city is corrupt, obviously. There must be a way to open the Jarl’s eyes to it. He may be a fool, but that housecarl of his – Faleen. She’s no idiot.”

“We’ll have to wait and see,” Ryndoril said. “In any case…I haven’t slept for nearly two days, and I’m exhausted. Hopefully whatever happens can wait until morning. I just…I thought you all needed to know.”

“If you have to leave, I’m coming with you,” Argis said immediately. “If everything’s this bad in the city and nothing will ever be done about it, I don’t want to stay here anymore.” Ryndoril smiled tiredly at his housecarl.

“I appreciate it, Argis,” he nodded. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that. Thank you both, by the way,” he added.

“Of course,” Lydia replied at once. “I only wish there were some way to get your possessions back.”

“Me, too,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I had my good bow on me, and most of my gold, and that was my best armor,” he added. “But…I’ll live.”

Arigs and Lydia bade their Thane goodnight then, walking out the door and heading to Argis’ room.

“You’ve been very quiet,” Ryndoril said softly to Ondolemar once they were alone again.

“I don’t want you to leave the city for good,” Ondolemar whispered. “I…I can’t promise what your housecarl did, Ryn.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said quickly, squeezing Ondolemar’s hand and looking anxiously at him. “You couldn’t do that. You’re posted here; that’s all there is to it. I don’t blame you.”

“But that I would never see you again,” Ondolemar murmured, looking away from Ryndoril.

“Hey,” Ryndoril said, rubbing his thumb over Ondolemar’s fingers. “Nothing’s going to keep me from seeing you,” he said quietly, his voice utterly sincere. “If I have to scale the mountain to climb down the wall into the Keep, I’ll do it.” Ondolemar looked up at the Bosmer then, an emotion he couldn’t really express welling up inside him.

“You’re serious,” he finally said, his voice strained.

“Of course I’m serious,” Ryndoril replied earnestly. “Nothing could keep me away from you. Never.” Ondolemar leaned in then, kissing the Bosmer softly on the lips before resting his forehead against Ryndoril’s.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” Ondolemar murmured, staring straight into Ryndoril’s eyes. “I never meant for this to happen. If I’d known, I would’ve – “

“Hush,” Ryndoril replied, pressing a finger to Ondolemar’s lips, keeping his eyes locked on the green ones in front of him. “I wanted to help. And anyway, now you’ve got your answer for the Ambassador,” he added. “And you know that half the damn city’s corrupt.”

“I’m not sure I’m better off for knowing that,” Ondolemar replied dryly. He sighed softly, then pulled Ryndoril into an embrace, holding the Bosmer’s head to his shoulder. “I just wish it hadn’t been like this.”

“Me, too,” Ryndoril replied into the Altmer’s neck. “But it’s all right. I’ve still got you.” Ondolemar squeezed the Bosmer gently once more.

“Did you still want to clean up before bed?” Ondolemar asked, finally pulling away.

“Are you saying I smell?” Ryndoril grinned. Ondolemar’s ears reddened.

“No, it’s not…I just remembered you said…” he trailed off and then huffed at the expression on Ryndoril’s face. “You’re teasing me.”

“I am,” Ryndoril confessed, leaning up once more to press a soft kiss to Ondolemar’s chin. “I’ll go wash up and be right back. You’re…you’re going to stay here tonight, aren’t you?” he added uncertainly, getting out of bed.

“I can think of no place better,” Ondolemar said, getting up too. “Particularly after I was left waiting last night,” he added teasingly.

“I know,” Ryndoril said, and looked sincerely chagrined. “I missed you, you know. I wanted to come back. I was trying, I just –“ he was cut off when Ondolemar pressed a finger to the Bosmer’s lips.

“Ryn, hush,” Ondolemar murmured, gazing into the Bosmer’s brown eyes. “I know you wanted to, and I know you were trying to help me. In fact,” he added, “I’m sorry for pressing you yesterday. I know you are doing your best.” Ryndoril relaxed a little then. Though polite apologies fell easily enough from Ondolemar’s lips – insincere but bred of propriety – something with such sincerity was rarely heard, and Ryndoril had only ever heard it directed at himself.

“It’s okay,” Ryndoril replied, moving the Altmer’s hand to his cheek. “I’ll go get cleaned up, and be right back.”

“Would you like company?” Ondolemar asked, smirking and raising an eyebrow. Ryndoril laughed.

“Tempting, if I weren’t so exhausted,” Ryndoril replied. “Maybe I can hold onto the offer for another time?”

“Well, for you, I suppose,” Ondolemar sighed dramatically. Ryndoril chuckled again, kissing the Altmer’s palm.

“Be right back,” he said, grabbing the fur off the bed to cover himself with and digging out a clean pair of trousers from his dresser. He still hurt a bit – healing spells couldn’t fix everything – but he was in much better shape than he had been when he’d escaped the prison.

He tried not to let thoughts of killing Madanach bother him while he bathed, but it was difficult. He’d killed in fights before, he’d even preemptively killed known foes – dozens of times. But to kill a man he’d talked to, a man he wanted to reason with, a man who was simply trying to do what he could for his people…

 _But ‘what he could’ involved killing a lot of other innocents,_ Ryndoril reminded himself firmly. _There was no other way_. Even so, he wouldn’t soon forget the memory.

“Sometimes you simply have to learn to live with it,” Ondolemar said softly later, when they were tucked into bed. He stroked Ryndoril’s red hair, wishing he could make the Bosmer feel better about what had happened. “Sometimes there is no other option.”

“It’s still hard,” Ryndoril murmured, though grateful for the Altmer’s comfort. “They had families.”

“I know,” Ondolemar replied. “I was in the Great War, remember. I…I obviously disagreed with the other side, but how many of the men and women I killed were simply trying to protect their families? It was war, and they were trying to kill _me_ – it was the way things had to be, but…it still _bothered_ me.” There was silence for a moment. “But you can’t let it get to you all the time,” he added. “You’ll drive yourself mad. You did what you had to do.”

“You….” Ryndoril trailed off, then took a deep breath. “You don’t think I’m an awful person?”

“Of course I don’t,” Ondolemar said in surprise. “Ryn, how could you even think that?” He held the Bosmer in higher esteem than just about anyone he’d ever met! How could Ryndoril doubt that?

“I just feel…terrible about it,” Ryndoril sighed. “I can’t help it.”

“I know,” Ondolemar murmured, pulling the Bosmer closer. “But it will be all right.”

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril sighed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Ondolemar’s bare shoulder. “For everything.” Ondolemar smiled slightly in the dark. Anything for his elf.


	3. Chapter 3

The household was awoken the following morning by someone pounding on the front door.

“I’ve got it, my Thane!” Argis called through the door, sounding annoyed. Ryndoril was less annoyed than he was nervous; could it be the guards had come for him?

“What in the name of the Divines is going on?” Ondolemar muttered sleepily, looking around.

“I don’t know yet,” Ryndoril said quietly. “Argis is getting the door. I…maybe they came to take me back….”

“No,” Ondolemar said, waking up more fully at once, immediately defensive of the Bosmer. “No, Ryndoril. No one is taking you anywhere. You have my word.” Ryndoril glanced at the Altmer and tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it and looked away. He’d never escaped from prison like this before, and he didn’t really like to think what punishment might be awaiting him. “Ryn. Look at me,” Ondolemar ordered, taking the Bosmer’s hand and squeezing it. “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he promised when Ryndoril looked back. There was such determination in his face that Ryndoril couldn’t help but believe him, even if the elf had no control over it. Ondolemar kissed Ryndoril’s temple, trying to reassure the smaller mer.

A few tense moments later, a knock came on Ryndoril’s bedroom door.

“My Thane?” Argis said, his voice rough and angry. “Thonar Silver-Blood wishes to speak to you.” Ryndoril gazed warily at the door.

“Come in here, Argis,” Ryndoril said to the closed door. Argis obeyed, shutting it firmly behind him. “Is he…am I being arrested?”

“You think I would’ve told him you were here if that’s what he wanted?” Argis asked, shaking his head. “No. It’s just him, and he said something about…a pardon, actually.”

“A pardon?” Ryndoril asked, startled. That was the last thing he expected from the man, after everything that had happened. “Okay. I’ll be right – “

“No,” Ondolemar interrupted harshly. “Ryndoril, it’s a trap, it has to be! You know that damn Silver-Blood family wants nothing to do with anyone who has mer blood running through their veins!”

“I know,” Ryndoril agreed, “but nothing can be fixed if I don’t go out there.”

“I really don’t think it’s a trap,” Argis said honestly. “I didn’t see anyone else with him at all when I opened the door.”

“Yes, well, forgive me if I’m unwilling to trust his life to your powers of observation, _Nord_ ,” Ondolemar snapped.

“I’ve been trained to look out for this kind of thing, on behalf of my Thane’s life,” Argis said angrily in return. “I know you care about him, but don’t you dare assume you’re the only one!”

“Stop it,” Ryndoril ordered them both anxiously. “Look, I really need you both looking out for me right now, all right? Gods. Stop fighting.”

“Sorry, my Thane,” Argis muttered, looking away.

“Sorry,” Ondolemar added shortly, glaring at the Nord.

“Tell him I’ll be out in a minute,” Ryndoril said to Argis. “And…don’t mention Ondolemar.”

“Of course not,” Argis replied. “Whatever _he_ might think, I’m not that stupid.” Argis turned and left the room then, leaving a seething Ondolemar sitting on the bed with Ryndoril.

“You seriously mean to go out there and walk right into what is very obviously a trap, just on his word?” Ondolemar asked impatiently. “Ryndoril, don’t be a fool!”

“I’m not being a fool to trust Argis,” Ryndoril said, his voice quiet but firm as he stared at the Altmer. “I know you don’t like the Nords, but you can’t act like this, Ondolemar. And right now…right now I really need you,” he added in a slightly desperate whisper. This made Ondolemar’s anger wane almost at once; he couldn’t keep it up in the face of Ryndoril’s anxiety.

“Of course, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured. “I’ll get dressed and come – “

“No,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head as he got out of the bed. “I don’t want him to see you here. What would he think?”

“I don’t – “ Ondolemar paused, about to say he didn’t give a damn, but realizing how stupid that was – if there was going to be trouble, his presence would only worsen it. “You’re right,” he admitted. “He shouldn’t know I am here. But I swear by the Divines, Ryndoril, if I hear him doing anything to harm you, I will _not_ stay put.”

“Good,” Ryndoril said with a small smile. “That’s what I need from you. Just…listen out for me, won’t you?”

“Of course I will,” Ondolemar sighed. “Be _careful_ , Ryn.”

“I will,” Ryndoril promised, donning his clothing. He did wish he had his armor back, but there was nothing for it; he’d replace it later, and his housecarls were there, at least. Taking a deep breath, he walked out to find Thonar.

The man was standing near the hall to the door, looking somewhat sheepish and carrying a large bag.

“Ah, Ryndoril,” Thonar said, nodding when he saw the elf. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You try anything, you’re getting a sword to the throat,” Lydia spoke up threateningly from nearby. Thonar gave her a dirty look.

“No need to be so crude,” he said disdainfully. “I’m not going to hurt your precious Thane. I came here to thank you,” he went on, looking back at Ryndoril. “For getting rid of Madanach for me.”

“I didn’t do it for _you_ ,” Ryndoril said harshly, angrier at the man than he usually got with people. “I did it because he was trying to kill me.”

“Whatever,” Thonar said impatiently. “Your name’s been cleared with the Jarl, so you don’t have anything to worry about anymore. And here is everything the guards confiscated from you,” he added, holding out the bag.

“It better _all_ be there, you slimy little man,” Lydia snapped.

“I haven’t touched it,” Thonar shrugged. “As far as I know, it is.”

“So, I’m not going to be arrested as soon as I step out the door?” Ryndoril asked skeptically, taking the bag. 

“No,” Thonar said. “You are free, and with my thanks. The rest of the prisoners have been dealt with, too.” Ryndoril felt his stomach clench; he truly hadn’t wanted that, but what could he do?

“Fine,” Ryndoril sighed.

“You could say thanks,” Thonar frowned, and Ryndoril looked at him in shock.

“Are you kidding me?” Ryndoril demanded when he found his voice again. “You nearly get me killed, you get me thrown in jail, you murder everyone down there just for being down there, and after you set me up for all of this when I didn’t do anything wrong, you want me to _thank_ you?”

“Well, I did get your name cleared!” Thonar insisted. “And…here,” he added, making a face and pulling a ring off his finger. “To show my appreciation. My family’s ring.” Ryndoril snatched it out of the man’s hand. Normally he wouldn’t take something of such sentimental value from someone as a payment, but he was so angry he didn’t care. _Besides_ , he thought viciously, _the man probably doesn’t even give a damn._

“Just get out of here,” Ryndoril said harshly. Thonar sighed and turned back to the door, slamming it behind him a moment later. Ryndoril looked into the bag – to his slight surprise, everything did seem to be there.

“Got all your stuff?” Lydia asked, coming over to Ryndoril.

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said with a small smile at her. “I’ve got to head to Whiterun now. You want to come with me?”

“Of course,” Lydia said at once. “Soon?”

“As soon as I’m finished getting ready after breakfast,” Ryndoril replied. “Thanks, Lydia.” He turned and went back to the bedroom, finding Ondolemar pacing impatiently, full dressed in his Thalmor robes.

“Well?” Ondolemar asked anxiously when Ryndoril opened the door.

“My name’s been cleared,” Ryndoril replied. “The idiot had the audacity to ask for a thank-you for it, too.”

“Oh, he’ll be getting a _thank you_ , all right,” Ondolemar sneered. Ryndoril gave him a small smile.

“I need to get dressed and everything,” Ryndoril said. “He gave me back all my stuff.”

“Of course,” Ondolemar said. “Are you feeling all right this morning, Ryn?”

“A little sore, but nothing bad,” Ryndoril said with a smile. “Thanks.” He explained what Thonar had said as he got dressed, making sure all his stuff was in fact in the bag.

“Well, at least you needn’t worry now,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Ryndoril nodded. “Let’s get something for breakfast,” he added, motioning for the Altmer to follow him.

*****

After breakfast, Ryndoril began packing up everything he’d need for his trip.

“Where are you going?” Ondolemar asked curiously. “I thought you didn’t need to leave the city?”

“No, I don’t have to leave the city,” Ryndoril said with a slightly sad smile at Ondolemar. “But I still have to go to Whiterun.”

“Whiterun?” Ondolemar asked, momentarily confused. “But – oh. For the Companions.” He stared at Ryndoril, an odd look on his face. “After all of this, everything that just happened, you’re just going to run right off to them?” Ryndoril stopped arranging things in his pack and stood up fully, staring hard at Ondolemar.

“Yes, I am,” he said. “I was supposed to be there yesterday, and they still need me. Please don’t do this again,” he begged.

“You need to rest,” Ondolemar said harshly, starting to feel angry though he couldn’t say exactly why. “Look at the state you were in just last night!”

“Which you very kindly healed me from,” Ryndoril replied patiently. “I – “

“Then perhaps I shouldn’t have!” Ondolemar shouted, rage erupting within him all at once. Argis and Lydia glanced at one another uncomfortably.

“My Thane, I’ll wait for you at the inn,” Lydia said quickly, and they both hurried out of the house.

“You wish you hadn’t healed me?” Ryndoril asked quietly after the door shut, hurt blossoming through him while Ondolemar continued to look angrier.

“If the way you’re going to repay me is to run off to your thrice-damned Companions, perhaps not!” Ondolemar said heatedly. “How can you just leave me like this, Ryn?”

“This isn’t about you,” Ryndoril said, feeling himself start to tremble. He hadn’t been upset like this since the incident with Rune; he didn’t want it to be like this with the Altmer. “Ondolemar…you know I don’t do it to leave you. I don’t _want_ to leave you. I just – “

“Then why _are_ you?” Ondolemar demanded, his usual sneer coming back over his face. He knew he shouldn’t be this angry, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t believe that after all of that, the Bosmer would just go off to see those bloody Nords! “Why are you running off on me?”

“Because they need me,” Ryndoril explained desperately, trying to keep his voice calm though he felt a little choked. He couldn’t stand Ondolemar yelling at him like this, couldn’t stand the elf being angry with him this way. “They need me for something important, and I can’t – “

“Can’t tell me what it is,” Ondolemar sneered, anger blinding him to how upset Ryndoril was. All he could see was that Ryndoril was leaving him after the worry of not being able to find him, of knowing he was in jail, of seeing him hurt! Running off to go play adventurer and travel with his dear _friends_ when Ondolemar was still going to be stuck there in the Keep, as always! And the Bosmer didn’t see a problem with it! “Fine. So you’ll leave me to deal with this city of filth and corruption while you run off to play with _them_ , and you can’t even be honest with me about it.”

“It isn’t about being honest with you!” Ryndoril argued. “Ondolemar, why are you making such a big deal out of this? I’m not leaving you because I _prefer_ them! I’m not –“

“Then what is it?” Ondolemar exploded. “Are you just that tired of being around here? Around me?”

“No, you know better than tha-!”

“Fine!” Ondolemar snapped. “Fine! Just…go be with your precious Companions. I’ll see you some other time, if you can bring yourself to bother with me.” He strode out of the hall then, leaving Ryndoril behind, far too shocked to speak.

 _Damn that wood elf!_ Ondolemar thought savagely as he made his way angrily back to the Keep. Everything he’d done for that Bosmer, and he throws it away like it meant nothing, so he could go spend time with the bloody Companions, of all people! Obviously their history meant nothing to Ryndoril – the fact that the damn Five Hundred Companions had all but wiped out the elves so long ago was nothing to him. Ondolemar knew, though, that surely they could only allow a mer in their ranks as mockery. And _this_ was somehow more important to Ryndoril than Ondolemar himself?

Well, then! He could have his bloody _Companions_ , and his bloody _adventuring_ , and his bloody life without Ondolemar. It was ridiculous for a respected Thalmor Commander to have gotten involved with anyone anyway!

Just then, all at once, a crushing weight came crashing down upon Ondolemar. He couldn’t breathe, and he stopped short, clutching his chest just before he reached his rooms in the Keep.

Would he really not see the elf again? Would…would it really be possible? Ondolemar gulped for air, the thought causing him more misery than he ever would have thought possible.

“Commander?” Cyndil asked in alarm, coming out of the room to find his superior looking ashen. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar choked out, forcing himself to breathe normally again. “I’m fine,” he added, snapping as usual. “Return – return to your duties.” He strode past the other elf and into his private room, shutting the door behind him.

Of course Ryndoril wouldn’t stay away forever, he thought. He knew the Bosmer – Ryndoril likely wouldn’t even leave the city like this. He knew Ondolemar was upset, and as usual, he would give him time to calm down, then seek him out to make everything better. It was only a matter of time.

Breathing a little easier at the thought, Ondolemar tried to calm himself, settling down to some paperwork. He would simply wait, that was all. It would be fine.

*****

Ryndoril stood in his house, staring in bewildered hurt at the closed door. He couldn’t believe what Ondolemar had said. Could the Altmer really think those things? Did he really think Ryndoril was abandoning him? That _anyone_ could be more important to the Bosmer?

He sniffled a little, blinking back tears that he hadn’t yet let fall. Even at his most annoyed, Ondolemar had never spoken to him like that before. The Altmer couldn’t possibly believe the things he’d said. How could he think anyone was more important to Ryndoril than him? It was just…something he had to do!

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Ryndoril shouldered his pack, making sure his bow and all his arrows were in place. He took a deep breath, then went into his room to find a pen, ink, and paper. After writing his short note and sealing it, he cleared his throat, pulled himself together, and headed down to the inn. He just had to hope that Ondolemar would eventually come around. He couldn’t handle the idea of what would happen if he didn’t.

*****

“My lord?” Rolain called, knocking on Ondolemar’s door. The weary Altmer hurried to open it. It had been several hours since he’d left Ryndoril, and the Bosmer hadn’t come yet – every minute that passed made Ondolemar feel worse.

“Yes?” Ondolemar asked anxiously.

“This just arrived for you,” Rolain said, holding out a sealed note. “From that Nord housecarl of your Bosmer friend.”

“Thank you,” Ondolemar said absently, taking the note and shutting the door. He didn’t hear his guard’s annoyed huff as he tore open the note.

_Ondolemar,_

_I’m sorry that my leaving upsets you. I have to go – this is an urgent matter, and I can’t keep them waiting longer than I already have. I hope to be able to explain everything to you after, if you’ll consent to speak to me. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never want that._

_I will miss you._

_Ryn_

He had left. The gods-be-damned Bosmer had left town entirely, after all of that! 

“Cyndil!” Ondolemar yelled, opening his door.

“Yes, my lord?” his guard said, looking up from the table in mild surprise.

“Get me wine from the kitchens,” Ondolemar snapped.

“Just one bottle?” Rolain asked, getting up to go with Cyndil.

“No,” Ondolemar snarled. “All you can carry.” When the guards simply stared at him, he snapped again. “Go!” With that, he slammed his door shut once more.

He couldn’t believe Ryndoril had left after that. And the nerve to leave him a note! Not even come to speak to him properly, but a written _note!_

That night, Ondolemar locked himself in his room and drank himself silly. He vacillated between sadness at the Bosmer’s absence and uncontrollable anger that the Bosmer had _left_ him.

He reread the note a hundred times at least, and finally got so angry that he tore it into pieces. Not even a moment later, he hated himself for doing it – he didn’t know if he’d ever see the Bosmer again now, and he’d torn his last note to pieces. The last, precious thing Ryndoril had meant for him.

“Damn you,” Ondolemar muttered, unsure who he was even cursing, staring forlornly at the pieces of shredded paper. Well, if Ryndoril hadn’t just _run off_ like this, it wouldn’t be a problem, would it? So it was still the Bosmer’s bloody fault anyway. He groaned out loud then, sinking down onto his bed. “Auri-El, keep him safe,” he mumbled in a prayer. Somehow, some way, this had to be fixable, if only Ryndoril would eventually come back to him.


	4. Chapter 4

“Where have you been?” Vilkas snapped harshly when Ryndoril finally walked into Jorrvaskr. He could tell as soon as he walked up to the mead hall that something had happened, something was wrong – bodies he didn’t recognize lay on the ground, and much of the stone was soaked with blood.

“What happened?” Ryndoril asked, shocked.

“The Silver Hand,” Vilkas spat. “They finally found enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr.” Ryndoril knew the Silver Hand were werewolf-hunters, and the members of the Circle were werewolves – he hadn’t consented to take the blood himself, but the secret couldn’t be kept from him after watching Farkas transform once. He had no problem keeping their secret, however, and Kodlak had trusted him.

“Gods, no,” Ryndoril groaned. “Who – is everyone - ?” He couldn’t get the question out.

“We fought them off,” Vilkas said, sounding angry and weary at once. “But…the old man. Kodlak. He’s…” He trailed off, seeming unable to finish his sentence.

“Dead?” Ryndoril said quietly. Vilkas gulped, then nodded. “Was anyone else hurt?”

“No, thank Talos,” Vilkas said, his voice returning to mostly anger. “But they made off with our fragments of Wuuthrad.” Wuuthrad was the war axe of Ysgramor, Ryndoril knew, and the Companions had been trying to gather all the pieces for some time now. He’d helped get most of them himself. “But you and I are going to reclaim them,” Vilkas added authoritatively. “Beast blood or no…you have a duty to help avenge the old man.” He glared at Ryndoril as if daring him to argue.

“I know,” Ryndoril said quickly. “I mean…I will. I – I’m sorry, Vilkas.” He’d liked Kodlak, but he hadn’t known him that well, and hadn’t been as close to him as most of the others were. In any case, Kodlak hadn’t deserved to go like this.

“We will bring our battle to the Silver Hand’s chief camp,” Vilkas said, as though Ryndoril hadn’t spoken. “There will be none left living to tell their stories. Only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung.”

“Of course,” Ryndoril said meekly. He felt terrible that he hadn’t been around – if only he’d shown up earlier! “When did this - ?”

“This morning,” Vilkas said coldly. “Meet me at the gate in five minutes. We will avenge Kodlak, and they will know terror before the end.”

“I will, Vilkas,” Ryndoril nodded. He watched the man turn and walk out the doors without a backward glance, then looked over toward the side of the hall where others were gathered. He could see the white-haired Kodlak lying motionless on the floor in the middle of them. Swallowing hard, he went over.

“You’ve returned,” Aela said as she caught sight of him, her voice quiet.

“I have,” Ryndoril said. “I’m sorry it wasn’t soon enough. I…I tried.”

“I’m sure you did,” Aela sighed. “It’s not like any of us could have predicted this. I wrote you because Kodlak said he’d finally figured out what to do with those damn heads you retrieved for him.”

“He did?” Ryndoril asked. On Kodlaks orders, he’d retrieved the heads of a witch coven that had cursed the Companions and left them in Breezehome at Kodlak’s request.

“I have an idea, but…well. Now isn’t the time,” Aela said, shaking her head. “Listen. Try not to be too hard on Vilkas, all right? He’s just…”

“I know,” Ryndoril said, nodding. “I understand. I can’t imagine…well. I’m just…sorry.”

“Bring him back in one piece, will you?” Aela said. “He’s…not focused well right now.”

“I’ll do my best,” Ryndoril vowed.

“We’ll take care of this,” Aela said, nodding toward Kodlak’s body while her voice choked a bit. “There’ll be a…proper funeral when you both return.”

“Right,” Ryndoril nodded, putting a hand on Aela’s shoulder briefly. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and so let his hand fall before following Vilkas out the doors.

His guilt was nearly overwhelming him. He’d already felt bad enough for abandoning Ondolemar, and then leaving when the Altmer was angry with him. He had no idea if things would ever be all right with them again. Now he came to find out that due to helping Ondolemar before coming, he’d been forced to be _just exactly_ too late to save Kodlak. Now Vilkas was angry with him, the Companions were miserable, their leader was dead, and he had no idea if his lover would ever forgive him. And yet, there was nothing he could’ve done differently about any of it.

“Are you ready?” Vilkas snapped as Ryndoril approached him at the gate. Ryndoril nodded, not trusting himself to even speak. He didn’t want to leave again so quickly, but he knew that arguing the point with Vilkas was a very bad idea. “Let’s go,” Vilkas said, and started off.

Ryndoril resolved to simply channel his feelings into destroying the Silver Hand. He would work things out with Ondolemar, he just had to. Right now…he had to focus.

*****

It was well after dark when the pair reached the fort known as Driftshade Refuge. Vilkas hadn’t stopped for anything, his angry grief driving him; Ryndoril had surreptitiously swallowed a few stamina potions just to keep him going. He didn’t dare say anything to Vilkas about stopping and resting, but he’d been awakened early that morning by Thonar and then traveled all the way to Whiterun, and that was all after not quite sleeping in the prison. He downed another potion as they approached, hoping it would be enough to get him through alive.

“Let’s get them,” Vilkas snarled, readying his sword and shield. Ryndoril readied his bow and nodded. He would do what he had to do.

*****

“Fool,” Vilkas snapped at Ryndoril. The Bosmer had found himself sliced through the arm with a sword, blood dripping all over, during a particularly difficult fight with a few of the Silver Hand. “You should never leave your side open like that!”

“I know,” Ryndoril panted, kneeling on the ground with a bloody rag clamped to his arm while he searched for a healing potion. He typically _didn’t_ leave anything open; his exhaustion was really catching up to him despite the potions.

“Hurry up, for Talos’ sake,” Vilkas said, thoroughly impatient.

“I’m trying,” Ryndoril snapped in return. “Look, I know you’re upset, but I’m doing what I can here! I just finished traveling from Markarth when I left with you, and I’m exhausted!”

“You can sleep when you’re dead,” Vilkas said harshly. “And Kodlak already is.”

“Stop it,” Ryndoril breathed, closing his eyes. He was in enough pain without Vilkas making it worse. “Just…stop it.” Every time Vilkas snapped, Ryndoril could hear Ondolemar yelling at him all over again. He finally found his healing potion in his pack, swallowing it down and getting back to his feet. “I already said I was sorry, Vilkas,” Ryndoril said wearily, staring at the man. “I can’t do anything more than I already am.” Vilkas’ face softened slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

Vilkas walked off, and Ryndoril shook his head, going after the man.

The Nord was taken by surprise in the next room, two Silver Hand on him before Ryndoril had even stepped through the door. Vilkas went down, and Ryndoril didn’t even think before he was mechanically firing off arrows, finally striking one of the Silver Hand in the face. The man fell, and Vilkas was able to get to his feet to help fight off the other two then.

Vilkas, focused on blocking the blow of one of the remaining men, didn’t see the other come at his side. Ryndoril sent an arrow flying at the man, but it missed; the Silver Hand’s sword went straight through Vilkas’ middle. The Nord roared in pain, though he’d just managed to strike the other man dead while getting hit. Vilkas sank to the ground, clutching his stomach, and the remaining Silver Hand tried to move in for the kill. Ryndoril summoned all his concentration and fired off an arrow straight at the man’s eye; it hit its mark, and with a horrible cry of agony, he fell to the ground, dead.

“Here,” Ryndoril said quickly, kneeling next to Vilkas. He managed to quickly find his other healing potions, uncorking them and giving them to the Nord.

“Don’t…need…damn…potion,” Vilkas coughed.

“Just take it!” Ryndoril said, his exhaustion making him angry. “You want to die here after all that?” Vilkas gave him a murderous look, but finally consented to taking the potion.

“Thanks,” he said grudgingly when he could speak again, slumping fully to the floor.

“Just lie there and relax a minute,” Ryndoril said roughly. “I’ll check the room.” He downed another stamina potion, trying to keep himself from stumbling all over – he was nearly out of them, but he _had_ to keep going. He owed it to Vilkas, to Kodlak, to everyone he’d let down because he wasn’t trying hard enough.

Thankfully, he found the last missing fragment of the axe. All that remained was for them to get back out of the place and – _sleep_ , Ryndoril thought desperately.

They found they had slain all the Silver Hand, just as Vilkas had wanted. Their way out was unblocked, and neither spoke as they found their way back out into the cool night air. Looking to the east, Ryndoril could see a faint lightening of the sky; it was nearly dawn.

“Thank you,” Vilkas said roughly, stopping abruptly and turning to Ryndoril. “I’m…sorry, by the way.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said, his voice slightly slurred from exhaustion. “Let’s just…go.” 

“ _Can_ you?” Vilkas asked, eyeing the wood elf warily. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep where you stand.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ryndoril mumbled, reaching for one of his remaining stamina potions. He’d get back to Whiterun, at least. He…he _could_ do that much. “Come on.” He set off into the early morning, stumbling his way back to the city with Vilkas.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to get back to the city, and was barely coherent as Vilkas practically shoved him through the door of Breezehome. Lydia was there, though; kind, helpful Lydia, who somehow got Ryndoril up the stairs, out of his armor, and into bed.

“But…funeral…” Ryndoril protested, the words barely coming out.

“Just sleep,” Lydia said gently, adjusting the blanket over her Thane. She’d rarely seen him this worn out., and she was a little bit worried.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril whispered, his eyes closed.

“Ondolemar will be fine,” Lydia soothed. Ryndoril had told her what had happened, and she knew the elf was very upset. For the life of her she couldn’t see what her Thane saw in that miserable, stuck-up Thalmor, but she felt for him anyway. “You’ll see him soon. Sleep.” The wood elf couldn’t stay conscious a second longer, and she left him to his rest.

*****

“Hey,” Ryndoril said sleepily, stumbling downstairs early that afternoon to see Lydia cooking something over the fire.

“How are you feeling?” Lydia asked sympathetically as Ryndoril sat in a chair nearby.

“Miserable,” Ryndoril sighed, rubbing his eyes. He’d dreamt of Ondolemar and Vilkas, both shouting at him for being so inept and selfish. “Vilkas still hate me?” Lydia turned to look at Ryndoril, frowning.

“I didn’t know he hated you,” Lydia said. “He mentioned the funeral for Kodlak Whitemane. Said you should head up to Jorrvaskr when you’re awake.”

“Then I should go,” Ryndoril said, trying not to groan. He was still so tired, he just wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he had to go – he had to do it for them. Ondolemar was angry with him, but at least he could make his trip to Whiterun _worth_ it. He had to fix things with the Companions.

“You need to eat something first,” Lydia said firmly. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.”

“All right,” Ryndoril nodded. He _was_ starving; all these days of barely eating and sleeping were really going to get to him, he knew. He just couldn’t do anything about it yet. Lydia served him up a bowl of stew, and Ryndoril wolfed it down before getting dressed again.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” Lydia asked as Ryndoril got ready to head up to Jorrvaskr.

“I’ll be fine, Lydia,” Ryndoril said, looking gratefully at his housecarl. “Thank you for everything you do for me. You’re amazing.” Lydia smiled, blushing a little.

“Just try taking care of _yourself_ now and then,” she said, shaking her head.

“Here,” he added, handing her a sack of gold. “Do me a favor and buy some more stamina and healing potions from Arcadia, would you?”

“Of course,” Lydia sighed, watching him out the door. That wasn’t the answer to her Thane’s problems, she knew, but he seemed very determined to simply keep going, whether he ought to or not.

*****

“Finally,” Vilkas said impassively when Ryndoril came to Jorrvaskr. “I’ve been waiting on you all morning.”

“Haven’t you slept?” Ryndoril asked, shaking his head in amazement.

“I don’t need to sleep much,” Vilkas said, his face clouding over again. “If you’d taken the damn beast blood, you’d know.”

“Vilkas, don’t,” Aela barked. “Ryndoril, good. You’re here. The funeral’s prepared, and we thought you should be here for it.” Vilkas snorted, but Aela ignored him.

“I’m here now,” Ryndoril said. “Thanks.”

“Come,” Aela said, beckoning Ryndoril and Vilkas to follow her up to the forge. 

The funeral for Kodlak was quick; Ryndoril was barely aware that it was over until Aela tapped him on the shoulder.

“Ryndoril,” she said, looking at him.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s done,” Ryndoril said with a small sigh. “Sorry.”

“Are you all right?” Aela asked, unusual caring in her voice.

“Fine,” Ryndoril nodded. “Still a little tired, but I’m fine.”

“The Circle is meeting in the Underforge,” Aela said. “Since you were the one to do that…errand…for Kodlak, you should join us.” Ryndoril knew that few approved of him not taking the beast blood and becoming a werewolf; Kodlak was the only one who had supported his decision. All the same, he appreciated Aela’s tolerance to it at the moment.

He followed her down under the forge; he’d only been here once before, when he’d been offered the blood by Aela herself. He passively listened as the twins and Aela discussed what to do next; they all knew Kodlak had wanted cleansed of the beast blood before he died, and it seemed there might be a way to cure him still, though Aela protested slightly. Ryndoril didn’t really know what to say, and in any case was much too tired to form any kind of argument, so he simply let them talk.

“We can’t even enter Ysgramor’s tomb without Wuuthrad,” Aela finally sighed. “And it’s been in pieces for thousands of years.”

A voice spoke up behind Ryndoril then, and they all turned to look; no one had heard Eorlund Gray-Mane come in.

“And dragons were just stories,” Eorlund said, holding up a magnificent axe. “And the elves once ruled Skyrim. Just because something is, doesn’t mean it must be.” Something sounded odd about that to Ryndoril’s ears; was the man insulting the elves? No, he was simply tired, he was sure. He tried harder to focus when Vilkas spoke next.

“Is that it? Did you repair the blade?” Vilkas asked in wonder.

“This is the first time I’ve had all the pieces together, thanks to our Shield-Brother here,” Eorlund said, glancing at Ryndoril. The Bosmer thought it had rather little to do with him, though admittedly he had retrieved most of the fragments the first time around. “The flames of a hero can reforge the shattered. The flames of Kodlak shall fuel the rebirth of Wuuthrad. And now it will take you to meet him once more. Prepare to journey to the Tomb of Ysgramor, for Kodlak.”

“Amazing,” Aela whispered, staring in awe at the axe. “Then this…this might actually be possible. You still have those witch heads?” she asked Ryndoril.

“At the house,” he nodded in confirmation.

“Then let’s get moving,” Vilkas said at once. “Here, Eorlund, give me – “

“No,” Eorlund said simply, not handing Vilkas the axe. “As the one who bore the fragments,” he added, staring pointedly at Ryndoril, “I think you should be the one to carry Wuuthrad.”

“I – “ Ryndoril tried to protest, but Aela spoke over him.

“He’s right, Vilkas,” Aela nodded. “Ryndoril should carry the axe to the tomb with us.”

“And keep it,” Eorlund said, raising an eyebrow. “He has done much for all of you, though I accept it may be hard to see right now. Consider what Kodlak would say,” he added softly when Vilkas showed every sign of an angry outburst. Vilkas snapped his mouth shut, though he glared at the old man.

“Fine,” Vilkas said. “Get those heads, secure that axe, and let’s get moving,” Vilkas snapped at Ryndoril.

“Vilkas, no,” Aela said at once. “Look at him – he’s still barely awake. He needs to rest, and we ought to prepare.”

“Where is this tomb?” Ryndoril asked, barely concealing a yawn.

“North, past Winterhold,” Vilkas said impatiently. “Which is why we need to start _now_.”

“Vilkas!” Aela said angrily.

“No, he’s right,” Ryndoril said quickly. “We should get started while it’s still light out. We can’t make it the whole way today anyway – let’s go to Windhelm and rest overnight.” Vilkas looked placated at that.

“If you’re sure,” Aela said skeptically. Ryndoril took the axe from Eorlund, wishing he didn’t have to carry it but not seeing how he could protest.

“I’ll meet you all at the gate soon,” Ryndoril said. “Just let me grab what I need.”

“Make it quick,” Vilkas said. Farkas, who hadn’t spoken much at all, nodded his agreement, though Aela just rolled her eyes.

Nevertheless, Ryndoril hurried back to Breezehome, telling Lydia where he was going. He couldn’t explain everything to her, of course, but he couldn’t just run off without telling her.

“Then I’m coming with you,” Lydia insisted stubbornly. “They’re thinking about themselves, not you, and I’m not having you get hurt because of that!”

“Lydia, you can’t,” Ryndoril sighed as he loaded up the potions she’d bought for him. “They’ll never agree to it.”

“If they won’t, I’ll follow you anyway,” Lydia said. “I’m not staying here.”

“All right,” Ryndoril relented, too tired to argue. He couldn’t fight with anyone anymore – he simply couldn’t. “Then come on.”

The other Companions argued, as Ryndoril had known they would, but to his surprise, it was Vilkas who finally acquiesced, though it was clear it was only because he wanted to get moving.

“Oh, Talos, let her come,” Vilkas said. “She will stay in Winterhold while we travel farther north. But let her come.”

“Good enough,” Lydia nodded her agreement. “Let’s go.” And so they set out.

*****

They rested overnight in Windhelm, though not nearly as long as Ryndoril would have liked; with three of his traveling companions being sleepless werewolves, he didn’t have much of a choice besides getting up when they were ready to go, after only a few hours’ sleep. Between the little rest he did get and more stamina potions, he managed to keep up with them all the way to Winterhold, where he bade Lydia good-bye and continued with the other three.

Vilkas had been quieter than Ryndoril expected; he seemed somehow angrier as they walked, but it didn’t seem to be directed at anyone in particular. Farkas made an odd observation here or there, presumably trying to get his brother to lighten up, but all it did was annoy Aela, who finally snapped at him to shut up.

Ryndoril was grateful for Farkas’ chatter, though; he was still feeling very tired, and Farkas gave him something to focus on. Eventually, after what seemed like ages, they reached the tomb.

“The resting place of Ysgramor,” Aela said, awed as they stepped inside and looked around. “By the Nine.” Ryndoril felt faintly uncomfortable suddenly; he realized he was the only non-Nord in the room, and being an elf at the tomb of Ysgramor…it could only be described as strange. “Put the axe in the statue’s hands,” Aela continued to Ryndoril. “That should open it.”

Ryndoril did as he was asked, and felt a shudder ringing through the floor as a door opened up.

“Looks like it worked,” he said wearily. “Let’s go.”

“You should be cautious,” Vilkas spoke up, his voice rough from disuse. “The original Companions – the finest warriors rest with Ysgramor. You’ll have to prove yourselves to them. It’s not that you’re intruding,” he added heavily. “I’d wager they’ve actually expected us. They just want to be sure you’re worthy.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘you’?” Ryndoril asked, turning to Vilkas. “Are you not coming?” Vilkas sighed.

“Kodlak was right. I let vengeance rule my heart. I regret nothing of what we did at Driftshade, but I can’t go any further with my mind fogged or my heart grieved.” Everyone stared at him for a moment, but then Ryndoril nodded.

“I understand,” he said kindly. “Well…we’ll be back, then.” And so he set off into the tomb with Aela and Farkas, just hoping this whole thing might be over soon.

They did indeed fight off the spirits of Ysgramor’s companions; it wasn’t anything Ryndoril hadn’t done before in various Nordic tombs, and he had little trouble. Soon, though, he became wary of the number of spider webs that were covering the walls and ceiling. He didn’t like spiders, not at all, and he wasn’t eager to face them while so tired.

“I can’t go any farther,” Farkas admitted, staring at the webs as well. The two had met several of the horrible beasts when Ryndoril had first gone off with Farkas to Dustman’s Cairn to retrieve a fragment of Ysgramor’s axe, and they’d both been horrified by the trip.

“Why not?” Ryndoril asked, more impatient than he usually was. He didn’t like the spiders either, but this had to be done!

“Ever since Dustman’s Cairn, the big crawly ones have been too much for me,” Farkas said sheepishly. “Everyone has his weakness, and this is mine. I’m not proud of it, but…I’ll stay back with Vilkas. Give my regards to Ysgramor.”

“Fine,” Ryndoril sighed. “Just…go. Aela and I will handle this.” Ondolemar’s words about hoping the Companions cared for him as much as he did them came unbidden to his head. He tried to push the thought away; Kodlak, at least, had always been kind to him, and this was for Kodlak, after all. The rest of them…well, he _still_ didn’t think Ondolemar was right to question their loyalty to him.

“Let’s go, Shield-Brother,” Aela said to Ryndoril. He nodded tiredly. “Are you all right?” she asked in some concern.

“Just tired,” Ryndoril said, downing another stamina potion so he would be at his best to fight the spiders. “And I don’t like the spiders either.”

“You want to turn back, too?” Aela asked, arching an eyebrow. He could hear the challenge in her voice.

“No,” Ryndoril replied, his voice rather harsh. “I can handle it.”

“Good man,” Aela nodded. Ryndoril didn’t bother to remind her he was an elf, not a man – he was too tired to care much at the moment. He simply followed her into the next chamber.

Both of them being archers, they were able to pick off the spiders with well-placed arrows before they were attacked. They continued, fighting off more of the ancient companions and making their way to the main chamber of the tomb.

They knew they had arrived where they meant to when they saw the ghost of Kodlak standing in by an oddly blue-flamed torch in a lone chamber, apparently warming his hands. He looked up at them with a sad smile when they approached.

“Hello, Shield-Brother,” he said softly to Ryndoril.

“Kodlak,” Ryndoril said, feeling his voice choke a bit. He hadn’t expected to get emotional here – perhaps it was his exhaustion. “I’m sorry I didn’t – I wasn’t – “

“Don’t fret over that,” Kodlak said. “It was my time. I’m only glad it was me, and not one of the others.”

“I tried,” Ryndoril said thickly.

“Peace,” Kodlak said gently. “Worry not, my friend. You are here now. My fellow Harbingers and I have been warming ourselves here, trying to evade Hircine.”

“But…there isn’t anyone else here,” Ryndoril said in confusion, wiping his eyes. He was glad, in any case, that the old man didn’t blame him.

“You can’t see the others because you have only known me,” Kodlak explained. “But I can see them all. The ones in Sovngarde…and the ones trapped in Hircine’s realm.”

“We realized you may still be able to be cured,” Ryndoril explained. “I still had those witch heads, you know.”

“Ah,” Kodlak smiled. “Well. I can only hope so.” He sighed. “Throw one of them into the fire. It will release their magic, for me at least.”

“I will,” Ryndoril nodded, fishing for the bag in his pack. He tossed one of the disgusting, though horrifyingly well-preserved, heads into the blue flame. For a moment, nothing happened; then, all at once, a wolf spirit erupted and began to attack.

“Kill it!” Kodlak called. “Kill the beast spirit! I cannot touch him, as I am not alive!” Ryndoril privately thought that he really didn’t need the Harbinger’s encouragement, as it was pure instinct to fight something that was attacking him, but he focused his energy on the fight.

Between Ryndoril and Aela, the fight was easier than the elf expected; soon enough, the spirit of the beast was vanquished.

“Ah, I thank you,” Kodlak breathed as Ryndoril knelt, panting to get his breath back after the fight. “The others remain trapped by Hircine, though.”

“Do you need me to do more?” Ryndoril asked, wanting to simply collapse.

“No, Shield-Brother,” Kodlak said. “Perhaps the heroes of old can join with me in Sovngarde, coming to rescue them. But for now…return to Jorrvaskr. Triumph in your victory. And lead the Companions to further glory.” With that, Kodlak’s spirit disappeared before Ryndoril could even process what he’d said. The wood elf fell to the ground, wanting to just _rest_ for a minute or two.

“Did I hear that right?” Aela asked, standing over him with her arms crossed. “Did he say you were to lead the Companions?”

“What?” Ryndoril asked, blinking up at her. “No – I mean, that can’t be what he _meant_. I’m hardly ever even around, I’ve not even been with you all that long. That wouldn’t make sense.”

“But that’s what he said,” Aela said stubbornly.

“Look, Aela,” Ryndoril said, squeezing his eyes shut to try and focus before reaching for another stamina potion, “I’m no leader. You know I don’t want to be bound to Whiterun. I’ve…I’ve got a life elsewhere.”

“So you’ll leave us without a leader?” Aela asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You do it,” Ryndoril said at once. “Or Vilkas. Or…hell, Torvar. I don’t care. It isn’t me, and Kodlak should’ve known better than to say something like that.”

“Hmm,” Aela said, staring speculatively at Ryndoril. “Well. I suppose we’ll see what happens. You should go tell the others it’s been done.”

“Me?” Ryndoril asked. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Actually,” Aela said with a small smile, “I thought I’d stay here a bit longer. It _is_ the tomb of Ysgramor, after all. There should be a door around here somewhere,” she added. “So you don’t have to go back through.”

“Most of these tombs are like that, yeah,” Ryndoril nodded, getting to his feet. It was done. Whatever else happened – this was finished, and he could make his way back to Markarth. “Look, I know it’s a dumb question, but – you don’t want one of these heads for yourself, do you?”

“Me? No,” Aela said, amused. “Never. The twins might, though. I’d hold onto them.”

“Sure,” Ryndoril nodded. He found his way to the hidden door that he knew would lead him to the beginning again, and made his way to the front chamber of the tomb where the twins awaited him.

“Well?” Farkas asked interestedly when Ryndoril reappeared.

“It’s done,” Ryndoril said. “Kodlak has been cured. Aela’s still down there, she wanted to spend some time in the tomb. I…need to go.”

“Thank you, Shield-Brother,” Vilkas said quietly. “You’ve done much for us.” Ryndoril really didn’t feel like he had; he wondered how Vilkas might react to what Kodlak had said. To his surprise, though, the Nord went to the statue of Ysgramor, retrieved the axe, and handed it to the elf. “You deserve this,” he said. “Keep it.” Too tired to protest, Ryndoril took the heavy axe, slinging it across his back.

“Come back and see us again soon,” Farkas added with a friendly smile. 

“I’ll try,” Ryndoril nodded, already distracted. He hurried out of the tomb, making his way to Winterhold. As soon as he found Lydia, he would go _home_. 


	5. Chapter 5

Exhausted but determined, heart heavy from the events of the past several days and worrying about his relationship with Ondolemar, Ryndoril crept into the Altmer’s bedroom. It was late, very late; hardly a soul was even awake at this hour. But he couldn’t go a minute longer without seeing him, no matter _how_ tired and potion-drunk he was. He’d had to down even more stamina potions to get back, but Lydia couldn’t convince him to stop for anything more than a few hours’ rest. He’d stopped at his house in Markarth only long enough to drop off his things and exchange his armor for comfortable clothing; as enticing as his bed had looked, he was longing for Ondolemar’s presence.

He could barely see anything as he made his way through the room over to the bed, but it didn’t matter; he knew where he was going, and he knew what he sought. Ondolemar was, predictably, asleep, though his face was troubled in the low amount of candlelight from the candle near the bed. Taking a deep breath, steeling himself, Ryndoril pulled off his shoes and crawled into the bed with Ondolemar.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar whimpered, and Ryndoril saw the Altmer was still asleep. Even hearing his voice after everything that had happened tugged at Ryndoril’s heart. He moved in close under the fine blankets, bringing a hand up to the high elf’s face and stroking his cheek.

“Ondolemar,” he whispered, heart pounding with anxiety. If the Altmer was still mad at him, this was very dangerous, but he was too tired to care. It didn’t matter, as long as he got to see him. Ondolemar twitched, then his eyes blinked open. His mouth opened in shock.

“Ryn?” he asked hoarsely, sounding disbelieving.

“It’s me,” Ryndoril replied, nervousness showing in his voice. “I – “ he broke off, unsure what to say.

“You came back,” Ondolemar murmured, stunned. He almost didn’t dare believe that the Bosmer was there next to him again.

“Of course I came back,” Ryndoril replied, swallowing hard. “I – I can go, if you’d prefer.” At those words, Ryndoril found himself surrounded by Ondolemar as the elf wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Don’t go,” Ondolemar begged. “Please…just…stay. Please.” Ryndoril felt his heart soar, as though everything he’d been through the last several days didn’t matter anymore – he had Ondolemar.

“I will,” Ryndoril said, and leaned his head into Ondolemar’s shoulder. He could feel the high elf trembling slightly and wrapped an arm around him as well. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Ondolemar breathed. “I’m so sorry. Please – “

“Shh,” Ryndoril said, nuzzling Ondolemar’s shoulder. “Just…just hold me. We can talk later.”

“But I – “

“Later,” Ryndoril choked, emotion almost overwhelming him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m exhausted, and I need to sleep, and I just…need _this_ right now. Please just hold me.”

“I will,” Ondolemar promised, squeezing the Bosmer tightly. He was overwhelmed with Ryndoril’s reappearance, particularly after just waking up from a terrible dream. Ryndoril was right – it didn’t matter. He just needed to hold onto the Bosmer for as long as he could right then. “I’m so glad you came back,” he whispered, stroking the wood elf’s hair.

“Me, too,” Ryndoril said, trying to control himself. It had been a very intense few days, and to hear those words from Ondolemar after what had happened between them…it almost pushed him to tears. But he was there, in his lover’s arms, and for that moment in time, everything was right again.

*****

When Ondolemar awoke the next morning, he could hardly believe that Ryndoril was actually next to him. He’d been sure it was a dream, somehow, or perhaps a hallucination. The Bosmer had been gone nearly a week, and he’d been starting to think he’d never return. To see him sleeping peacefully in his arms, though – nothing could have been better.

He wanted to apologize a thousand times – he had quickly come to realize how stupid he’d been, and how it had been ridiculous to even _think_ the things he’d let slip between his lips. It had all been due to his jealousy over Ryndoril leaving; that he left for the _Companions_ only made it worse.

He stared at the Bosmer for a while, just looking; oh, how he’d missed that face in bed next to him. He realized Ryndoril looked far more exhausted than he’d ever seen the mer, even while sleeping; he wondered what Ryndoril had been doing to look so worn.

“Oh, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured softly, stroking his fingers over the Bosmer’s cheek reverently. “Thank the Divines for you.” He leaned in to press a kiss to the Bosmer’s forehead and Ryndoril moaned, shifting and opening his eyes slightly. 

“Ondolemar,” he said gratefully upon seeing the Altmer.

“Yes,” Ondolemar said quietly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head, then groaning. “Ugh. Gods.”

“What’s the matter?” Ondolemar asked at once.

“Nothing,” Ryndoril said quickly. “I just…need to get up. We…we can talk about everything. I just need another stamina potion.”

“Another?” Ondolemar asked, arching his eyebrow as Ryndoril sat up.

“Oh, gods,” Ryndoril moaned, shutting his eyes as a wave of nausea came over him.

“What is it?” Ondolemar demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just…ugh. I’m sorry,” he said, quite distracted by the horrible hung over feeling. “I’ll get another potion and we can talk about everything, I promise, I – “

“Ryndoril, calm down,” Ondolemar said firmly, pushing on Ryndoril’s shoulder until the elf was lying down again. “What are you going on about?”

“I need another stamina potion so I can wake up,” Ryndoril murmured, his eyes half closed. “I want to talk…I don’t want you to be upset with me, I just – “

“Hush,” Ondolemar said at once, pressing a finger to the Bosmer’s lips. “I’m _not_ angry with you. I do, however, want to know what is wrong.”

“Too many potions,” Ryndoril finally admitted as Ondolemar moved his finger. “I’ve been using them to stay awake for…a few days now.”

“Ryn!” Ondolemar gasped, shocked. “That’s amazingly dangerous!”

“I had to,” Ryndoril sighed, his eyes closing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you so angry, and I didn’t want to leave you. I just – “

“Enough,” Ondolemar said firmly. “No more talking. You need to sleep, Ryndoril.”

“But you – “

“I will be right here,” Ondolemar assured him softly. “I’m not upset with you, I’m simply glad you’re here…and anything more can wait until later.”

“Are you sure?” Ryndoril asked desperately, fighting to stay awake.

“I’m positive,” Ondolemar said, kissing the Bosmer’s brow once more. “Please, rest. I will stay with you. Whatever has happened…you are with me now.”

“Thank Talos,” Ryndoril mumbled, already half asleep. Ondolemar gave him an utterly shocked look, but the Bosmer was already out. Well, _that_ was bizarre. He was too grateful to have Ryndoril next to him again, though, to bother him again about it. It was clear the Bosmer was exhausted, and to have kept himself awake with _potions_!

Resolving to ask Ryndoril about the Talos comment later, Ondolemar got out of bed to bathe and have his breakfast. At least, he thought, today was bound to go better than the last several.

*****

Ondolemar was at his desk, going over a few notes that he hadn’t been able to concentrate properly on since Ryndoril had left. The Bosmer was sleeping peacefully on his bed, and he kept glancing over every few minutes simply to look at him. This time when he looked over, however, the Bosmer was twitching in his sleep, and he heard a whimper.

“Ryn?” Ondolemar called, but the Bosmer didn’t answer.

“Please…don’t want to…” Ryndoril moaned, eyes squeezed shut. Frowning, Ondolemar went over to the bed, sitting next to the elf and putting a hand on his arm.

“Ryndoril, it’s all right, wake up,” Ondolemar said.

“I have to feed the spiders,” Ryndoril said dejectedly, eyes still closed. “I don’t want to feed the spiders.”

“What spiders?” Ondolemar asked, startled.

“Kodlak’s spiders,” Ryndoril informed him, still very much asleep. “He wanted me to feed them, but I don’t like the spiders.” Ondolemar snorted.

“It’s all right, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, trying not to laugh. “You don’t have to feed the spiders.”

“But Kodlak said…” Ryndoril whined.

“I’ve already fed the spiders,” Ondolemar assured him. “It’s all right.” He wondered who Kodlak was.

“You fed them?” Ryndoril asked, sounding vastly relieved.

“I did,” Ondolemar promised, squeezing the Bosmer’s arm. “You can go back to sleep.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril mumbled, much calmer. “Stupid spiders.” Ondolemar couldn’t help letting out a quiet chuckle at that. He’d had no idea the Bosmer didn’t like spiders. He waited until Ryndoril was peacefully sleeping again before getting back up and returning to his work.

*****

It was midafternoon before Ryndoril finally woke up. Stretching on the bed, he yawned widely and looked around, feeling quite well-rested for a change. He glanced over at Ondolemar’s desk and saw the Altmer sitting there, intent on something he was writing. Grinning to himself, Ryndoril got up and crept over to the mer, intent on surprising him.

“I know you’re awake,” Ondolemar said, a smile in his voice. “I already heard you yawn.”

“Damn,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. He wrapped his arms around Ondolemar anyway, taking a deep breath of the mer’s familiar scent. “Hello,” he sighed, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of being close to Ondolemar again.

“Hello,” Ondolemar replied, turning to kiss Ryndoril’s arm briefly. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Ryndoril nodded, nuzzling into Ondolemar’s hair as he did so. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Of course,” Ondolemar said softly. “Let me finish this up and we can talk. Would you like something to eat?”

“That would be wonderful,” Ryndoril replied.

“I don’t have anything hot in here, but I left you a bit of bread and cheese on the table,” Ondolemar said, nodding to it. “Water in the pitcher.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril murmured, kissing Ondolemar’s ear. As angry as the mer had been at him, and as much as Ryndoril had been worrying about it all, Ondolemar’s kindness meant all the more to him. He went over to the table, letting Ondolemar work in silence while he ate. With the rest and good food in his system, Ryndoril felt a lot better and a lot more capable of talking to Ondolemar about what had happened.

“Right,” Ondolemar sighed, getting up from his desk and stretching slightly. “How are you, Ryn?” he asked, looking over at the Bosmer.

“Better,” Ryndoril smiled. “Listen, love, I want to tell you everything, but – “

“There is something else that needs resolved first,” Ondolemar said firmly, walking over to the bed. “Join me?” Ryndoril laughed; he didn’t think the innuendo had been intentional, but the result was funny anyway.

“Maybe later,” Ryndoril said teasingly, and Ondolemar’s cheeks reddened.

“That is _not_ what I was referring to,” the Altmer replied dryly.

“I know,” Ryndoril said, sitting next to Ondolemar and taking his hand. “What is it, then?”

“I need you to know,” Ondolemar said, staring hard at Ryndoril, “that I was wrong, and I am sorry. I never meant to make you feel badly, and I – I didn’t mean anything I said. I promise you.” Ryndoril couldn’t help but smile slightly at the relief of that.

“You sure?” he asked. “I…I really didn’t want to let you down, you know.”

“You haven’t,” Ondolemar said at once. “I…was being ridiculous. You know my feelings toward the Companions, and it just…it was foolish,” he sighed. “I sincerely apologize.”

“You don’t regret healing me when it means I can just go away sooner?” Ryndoril asked with a half-smile.

“Of course I don’t,” Ondolemar said, squeezing Ryndoril’s hand and feeling immensely guilty for saying such a thing. “I don’t give a damn what you do _after_ …I don’t want to see you in pain when I could help.”

“And you aren’t furious with me?” Ryndoril asked, eyes serious now.

“No,” Ondolemar said fiercely. “I never should have lost my temper like that, or spoken to you that way, and particularly not over something so ridiculous. It won’t happen again, Ryn.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said, moving closer to Ondolemar and leaning into him. “I…can’t stay here all the time. And it’s got nothing to do with abandoning you.”

“I know it doesn’t,” Ondolemar assured him. “I promise, I know.” He kissed Ryndoril’s temple as he held the mer close in silence for a few minutes. “And now I have another important matter to settle,” he spoke up, smirking.

“I can tell you where I was,” Ryndoril said quickly. “Don’t worry about – “

“No,” Ondolemar interrupted. “Not that. May I ask, however, about your newfound praise of _Talos_?” Ryndoril pulled away and stared up at the Altmer.

“What?” he asked, baffled.

“Before you fell asleep earlier,” Ondolemar said, “I told you that you were with me now. And you said, ‘thank Talos.’” Ryndoril reddened and laughed sheepishly.

“Did I?” he asked. “Gods. I must have been around the Companions too long. I’m sorry, love, it didn’t mean anything – most of them use it as a phrase whether they worship him or not, and I guess with being so tired, I must’ve picked it up or something.” Ondolemar laughed – he knew it had to be something like that, as the Bosmer never would have become one of the heretics.

“Well, I am glad that I do not need to have you arrested,” he teased. “That would be unfortunate.”

“Can’t believe I said that,” Ryndoril said ruefully, shaking his head.

“Yes, well, even the best of us can slip and do something _terrible_ now and then,” Ondolemar smirked, and Ryndoril chuckled. “In any case. Is this…are we…all right?” he finished more seriously.

“Of course we are,” Ryndoril said, wrapping his arms around Ondolemar. “I missed you so much, love. I was so worried you wouldn’t…you wouldn’t want to see me again…”

“I will _always_ want to see you again,” Ondolemar murmured against Ryndoril’s hair, hugging him tight.

“I really didn’t mean to abandon you,” Ryndoril said softly.

“I know you didn’t,” Ondolemar said. “I know that they are your friends, however I feel about it.”

“And you still mean more to me,” Ryndoril said. Ondolemar rubbed his arm.

“I know,” Ondolemar murmured. “Do you want to tell me what you’ve been doing that you had to keep yourself awake with potions?”

“I do,” Ryndoril said. “I just…I can’t tell you _everything_.”

“That’s all right,” Ondolemar said understandingly. “Tell me what you can, then.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath before starting. “Some of the Companions have this…well…disease,” Ryndoril said awkwardly. “And…the leader wanted my help in finding a way to cure it. I’ve been helping, and then I got a letter that they really needed me – it turned out he might have figured out the cure. But…when I got there…” Ryndoril swallowed. “He was dead.”

“What?” Ondolemar asked, shocked. “What happened?”

“Well…this particular…disease they have…there are people who hunt them for it,” Ryndoril said.

“Are they vampires?” Ondolemar asked warily.

“No,” Ryndoril said quickly. “And I can’t tell you what they are, so please…”

“Sorry,” Ondolemar said quickly. “All right. Go on.”

“Well, these people had attacked the mead hall,” Ryndoril said. “Just a few hours before I got there. I…if only I’d left when I was supposed to…I could’ve been there.” He stopped; no amount of Kodlak’s reassurance had assuaged the guilt he’d felt when Vilkas had angrily confronted him.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Ondolemar said at once. “You were in prison!”

“I know,” Ryndoril sighed. “It just…it’s hard. Anyway…they killed him, and one of the other members wasn’t happy about me not being there. So he wanted to go after this group of people, and he demanded I go with him. I already hadn’t really slept in the mine, and I didn’t get that much rest before I left, and…I was upset about you…” he trailed off, and buried his face in Ondolemar’s chest as though reminding himself the Altmer was there.

“I’m sorry, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured guiltily, rubbing the Bosmer’s arm. “It’s all right now.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said heavily, grateful for the Altmer’s reassurance. “Well, I was exhausted, so I started downing a few potions to go with him…go after them. And we came back…and I only got a few hours’ sleep before we set off again. I’ve just not slept well at all,” he said, almost feeling tired again at the thought. “After I woke up, we had a funeral for our leader, but there was still supposed to be a way to cure him. So we went up to the tomb of Ysgramor – “

“Pardon me?” Ondolemar broke in. “They took you _there_?”

“I know,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “It felt… _strange_. But I was doing this for Kodlak.”

“Kodlak?” Ondolemar asked with interest. “Was that the leader of the Companions?”

“Yes,” Ryndoril nodded. “Why? Do you know him?”

“No,” Ondolemar said with a slight chuckle. “But you mentioned him while you were sleeping. You said he told you to feed his spiders, but you didn’t want to.”

“His…oh,” Ryndoril realized. Damn, he’d _really_ been out of it. “There were spiders that we had to fight in the tomb. That must be where that came from. I…don’t really care for spiders.”

“Nor do I,” Ondolemar replied in understanding. “But please, go on.”

“Right,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “Well, Kodlak had wanted a cure so he could go to Sovngarde. And so we were doing this for him. We managed it, too,” Ryndoril added, sounding a bit proud. “We cured him, and…well, it’s over now.”

“Shall I assume you’ll still be returning to them occasionally?” Ondolemar asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“Well…before his spirit left…” Ryndoril said, then took a deep breath. “Kodlak apparently named me their new leader.” There was silence for a moment. “I don’t want to be, though,” he added quietly. “I…I have a life here.”

“Then you should do as you wish,” Ondolemar said, trying not to sound too relieved. “Surely they won’t insist.”

“I don’t know,” Ryndoril sighed. “I left the tomb and came straight back here. I just…don’t want to think about it. I needed to see you.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Ondolemar replied softly. “I’m so very glad you returned.”

“There’s something else to it,” Ryndoril said, remembering. “There was a key, of sorts, to get into Ysgramor’s tomb. It was his axe. And…they gave it to me.”

“You wield the axe of Ysgramor?” Ondolemar said distastefully.

“I know,” Ryndoril said, making a face. “But…well, there wasn’t any way to argue. I did notice it was enchanted, and I hoped maybe you could figure out what it does for me?”

“Of course,” Ondolemar said, suddenly quite interested. It may be the weapon of the blasted Ysgramor, but he wouldn’t pass up the chance to study it. “I’m sorry it’s been such a trying time for you, however. Were you close to this Kodlak?”

“Not exactly,” Ryndoril said, “but he was always kind to me. It was…well, kind of a shock to lose him like that. I can’t help feeling guilty. I should’ve been there, but I was doing something for you, because I can’t just leave you, and I…I can’t _do_ everything at once,” Ryndoril sighed, feeling a little overwhelmed again.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar said, feeling guilty himself, “of course you can’t. No one expects you to.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril murmured gratefully. “I really missed you, love.”

“I missed you, too,” Ondolemar said, and he pulled Ryndoril’s face to his for a kiss. “So much,” he whispered against Ryndoril’s lips. Ryndoril laughed softly and pulled back.

“As interested as I am, I haven’t bathed in days,” Ryndoril admitted.

“I can fix that,” Ondolemar smirked, pressing another kiss to the corner of Ryndoril’s mouth.

“Going to watch me bathe in here?” Ryndoril laughed, feeling lighter than he had in days. Gods, it was so good to be back with his lover.

“Actually, I intended to join you,” Ondolemar said suggestively.

“Then by all means, yes,” Ryndoril agreed at once. Ondolemar smiled. This would be the first time they’d tried this, and he was anxious to give it a go. The two undressed as the tub filled, and Ondolemar noticed a new mostly-healed scar on Ryndoril’s upper arm. He reached for it, brushing his fingers over it with a light tingle of healing magic.

“What happened?” Ondolemar asked softly.

“Just a little too tired to be fighting,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “It’s all right, though.”

The two settled into the bath, Ondolemar behind Ryndoril with his arms wrapped around the Bosmer. He was aroused, to be certain; being this close to Ryndoril while they were both naked was enough to ensure that. But somehow…it didn’t seem all that important. All he could really care about was having Ryndoril to hold again, that the Bosmer had forgiven him and come back.


	6. Chapter 6

“You truly do live a most exciting life, don’t you?” Ondolemar asked softly, kissing the back of Ryndoril’s head as he found the soap and a washing cloth to begin bathing the Bosmer.

“Exciting, yeah,” Ryndoril sighed, the pleasant touch of the Altmer’s fingers making him feel happier than he had in a while. “Not always a good thing, though.”

“I’d say not,” Ondolemar agreed. They were quiet for a while then as Ondolemar meticulously washed the Bosmer, his touch gentle and thorough. Ondolemar had really never taken care of anyone like this before; he enjoyed it more than he expected he would.

“Mmm,” Ryndoril sighed when Ondolemar began to rub his shoulders, his hands slightly slick from the soap. He’d thought the Bosmer might enjoy that.

“Wash your feet, I can’t reach them,” Ondolemar suggested, dropping the washing cloth in front of Ryndoril, and the Bosmer laughed.

“Keep rubbing my shoulders and I will,” Ryndoril replied. Ondolemar did so, pleased at making the Bosmer happy. He slid his hands further down Ryndoril’s back as the elf leaned forward, dipping down between his cheeks for a moment and making the Bosmer shudder. Ondolemar chuckled softly and brought his hands back up to a more proper position for the time being.

“Done?” Ondolemar asked, feeling Ryndoril lean back against him once more. He could feel his length pressing against the Bosmer’s back; surely Ryndoril could feel it too.

“Mmhmm,” Ryndoril breathed. Ignoring the washing cloth, Ondolemar used the soapy water as his cleaning agent as he reached around the Bosmer, taking his length in his long fingers. Ryndoril was already quite aroused, to Ondolemar’s pleasure.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked softly in Ryndoril’s ear as he gave a short stroke. Ryndoril gasped, then moaned, leaning harder into the high elf. 

“Oh, yes,” Ryndoril sighed. He hadn’t known how badly he needed this until just now. The Altmer’s well-practiced fingers moving against him was something he’d longed for despite his exhaustion, not knowing if he’d ever get the chance to feel them again. He was so relieved the elf wasn’t still angry with him.

Ondolemar continued stroking Ryndoril, his free arm wrapped possessively around the Bosmer as he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss to the Bosmer’s ear. Ryndoril shuddered at the touch, making Ondolemar do it again and again until the wood elf moaned loudly.

“You better be quiet,” Ondolemar teased softly. “It is still the middle of the day. My guards could hear you.” He couldn’t bring himself to mind overmuch just then, however. Not when it was purely due to the fact that he was pleasing his lover.

“Sorry,” Ryndoril whimpered, his head falling against Ondolemar’s shoulder, his eyes closed in bliss. “Just…gods, love.” Ondolemar smirked; he’d quickly become quite adept at pleasing the Bosmer, and he couldn’t be prouder of himself for it.

Ondolemar shifted, arranging Ryndoril so he could reach further between the elf’s legs. As Ryndoril was so much smaller than he was, it wasn’t a terribly difficult feat, and it wasn’t long before he was running the washing cloth along Ryndoril’s inner thighs and back to the tight hole that was practically begging to be touched. After judging the mer sufficiently clean – and several pleading moans from Ryndoril – Ondolemar set the cloth aside and used the slickness of the soapy water to his advantage, pressing a finger gently into the Bosmer.

“Ondolemar!” Ryndoril cried, the sound softened by his breathless voice.

“Yes, Ryn,” Ondolemar encouraged, working his finger into the elf as best he could given the current position. “Enjoy it.” He couldn’t quite reach far enough inside the elf to touch the knot of tissue that he wanted, but it didn’t seem to matter; Ryndoril was writhing so much that a bit of water was splashing out of the tub as Ondolemar continued to stroke his length.

“Yes, yes, _gods_ yes,” Ryndoril was muttering, his head pressing back into Ondolemar’s shoulder in his pleasure. “Oh, love.” 

“Get on your hands and knees,” Ondolemar murmured into Ryndoril’s ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the Bosmer’s temple before pulling his hands away.

“Unfair,” Ryndoril whimpered at the loss, and Ondolemar laughed softly. He just couldn’t wait any longer to get inside the Bosmer. Ryndoril adjusted himself as instructed, leaving plenty of room for Ondolemar behind him as he gripped the edge of the tub with his hands. He wanted this, wanted it so badly he was trembling.

“Shall I prepare you further?” Ondolemar asked softly, stroking two fingers around Ryndoril’s waiting entrance and making the elf jump.

“No,” Ryndoril gasped. “Please…just take me.” Ondolemar grinned; there was something to be said for soapy bathwater. Ondolemar got to his knees, placing his hands on Ryndoril’s hips and brushing his slickened length against the Bosmer. He wished he had some oils near the bath; eager as the Bosmer was, a little more lubrication couldn’t hurt. It seemed Ryndoril was willing to deal with it, however, and Ondolemar was feeling far too impatient to let it bother him much.

It took a little more work than usual, but finally Ondolemar had pressed his head inside Ryndoril. The Bosmer was trembling, and Ondolemar stopped there, stroking the elf’s back.

“You’re all right?” he asked anxiously, his voice rough with lust. It was a mark of how much he cared for the Bosmer that he managed to keep still.

“Y-yes,” Ryndoril said shakily. “Just…bit different than usual.” It still felt good, to be sure, but Divines, it hurt more! He knew from experience that it would gradually lessen, though, and he wanted this so very much… “You can keep going,” he breathed, trying to make himself relax further. “Just...”

“Gently,” Ondolemar said softly, stroking the Bosmer’s hip. “Of course, Ryn.” And so he did, sliding slowly into the Bosmer until he was fully inside him. Ryndoril whimpered, though this time it was not in pain but desire. Ondolemar started to pull back out, and this time his head brushed over the sensitive lump inside the Bosmer, making Ryndoril gasp and buck against him as his hand automatically reached for his own length, desperate to be touched.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Gods, yes.”

“Ryn,” Ondolemar said, almost begging though he didn’t know what for. A few short, easy thrusts later, Ryndoril was almost ceaselessly moaning and Ondolemar was rather desperate to be stroking the Bosmer himself. “Come here,” he said roughly, his gentle touch a counterpoint to his tone as he wrapped his arms around the Bosmer. Carefully, slowly, he maneuvered them so that he was sitting again, leaning back against the edge of the tub while Ryndoril still sat between his legs, impaled upon him.

“By the gods,” Ryndoril whined, the feeling of being surrounded and filled with Ondolemar all at once nearly too much for him. His head fell back onto Ondolemar’s chest even as the Altmer’s hand snaked around to grasp his cock, stroking it swiftly.

“Ryn, I’ve missed you,” Ondolemar breathed in the Bosmer’s ear, flicking his tongue against the tip. He realized he quite liked this position; it didn’t leave him a lot of room to move, but the unparalleled closeness with the wood elf was more than enough to make up for it.

“Missed you too,” Ryndoril whimpered, his hands coming up to clutch at the Altmer’s arm that was squeezing his torso. “Please!” With a low growl, Ondolemar managed to move just enough that he was thrusting shallowly in and out of Ryndoril now, the water helping them along even as it splashed out of the tub and made a great mess all over the floor that neither of them bothered to care about.

The Altmer kept up the rhythm, thrusting into the Bosmer as well as he could while stroking his cock. The best part about this position, he noted, was the easy access to Ryndoril’s ears. An idea coming to him, he took the tip of one of the pointed elven ears between his lips and sucked on it gently, flicking his tongue against the point.

“Ahh!” Ryndoril said, writhing and almost jumping out of Ondolemar’s arms at the sensation. The warm wetness on his ear sent a shiver down his spine and straight through to his cock, nearly overwhelming him, but oh gods he didn’t want it to stop. “More,” he begged when Ondolemar pulled away from his ear, unable to stop wriggling against him. “Please…more…”

Ondolemar growled fiercely at that, the begging Bosmer making him feel powerful and wanton all at once. Taking the eartip between his lips again, he continued sucking on it, much to Ryndoril’s apparent delight; he could feel the Bosmer’s muscles clamping along his length, making him desperate. He bit into the cartilage then, ever so gently, and again Ryndoril nearly leapt out of his grasp. He kept a tight hold on the Bosmer, though, not letting him wriggle away even as he cursed.

Ryndoril was overcome with sensation, he couldn’t think anymore, all he could do was feel, feel the long fingers stroking him, feel the length inside him, feel the teeth and hot breath on the sensitive tip of his ear, and then with a louder groan than ever he was coming undone, spilling himself right in the bath.

“That’s right, Ryndoril,” Ondolemar said roughly, his voice choking a bit as his own release threatened to spill over, but he held off just a moment longer. “That’s it…yes, come for me. Ah!” he groaned when his release found him, unable to hold back anymore. With another last thrust, he emptied himself inside the Bosmer as Ryndoril whimpered in his arms, sagging into his grip and panting for breath.

“Gods,” Ryndoril breathed, snuggling against Ondolemar’s sated body, eyes closed. The Altmer had no choice but to stay inside him, and Ryndoril basked in the feeling of keeping the elf’s cock within him longer.

“Oh, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured, pressing soft kisses to the Bosmer’s cheek and chin until Ryndoril managed to turn his head and kiss his lips. Ondolemar rested his head against Ryndoril’s when they pulled away, quite content to just sit there; there was something special about feeling the wood elf surrounding his length this way just now. “I believe our bath has made us both dirtier than we were to start,” he added.

“Fussy Altmer,” Ryndoril laughed softly, limp against Ondolemar’s body.

“It isn’t that I didn’t enjoy it,” Ondolemar said. “But you must admit, this is hardly clean.”

“Why am I not surprised that this, of all things, would bother you?” Ryndoril chuckled, shaking his head. “Shall we drain the bath and do it properly, then?”

“Indeed,” Ondolemar nodded; he’d never be able to go without cleaning himself off now. “But…in a moment.” He was thoroughly enjoying holding onto the Bosmer just then. Ryndoril smiled, pleased.

“Going to fall asleep on me?” Ryndoril teased, and Ondolemar laughed.

“Not this time,” he replied. He usually was quite exhausted after his release, but this time – he presumed it had something to do with all the _emotion_ – it was the furthest thing from his mind. “I am sorry for everything you’ve been through, Ryn,” he murmured softly, rubbing his hand over Ryndoril’s arm. “And I am sorrier for being the cause of so much of it.”

“Don’t,” Ryndoril said quietly, squeezing Ondolemar’s arms to him. “It’s all right. I forgive you, love. Don’t dwell on it. Besides,” he said with a mischievous smile, “this made up for it.” Ondolemar laughed softly at that.

“I am glad to hear it,” Ondolemar replied. He squeezed the Bosmer once more before going on. “I do believe we ought to clean up properly, however.”

“All right,” Ryndoril grinned. He couldn’t exactly blame the Altmer; the bath _was_ rather filthy now. Ondolemar helped him stand up, the Altmer’s softening length slipping out of him. Ryndoril winced a little; that was going to be sore, he knew, but it had been worth it. The two elves quickly finished cleaning themselves up before settling down to dinner together.

*****

“Ryn?” Ondolemar said, coming into Ryndoril’s alchemy room while the Bosmer worked on restocking his potion stores.

“Hmm?” Ryndoril asked, looking up from the ingredients he was sorting. The Altmer looked very serious and was carrying Wuuthrad. “What did you find out about it?”

“It…are you sure these Companions are worth your time and devotion, Ryndoril?” Ondolemar asked tightly.

“We’ve been through this,” Ryndoril frowned. “I know what you think of them, but – “

“This axe could kill you,” Ondolemar said bluntly. Ryndoril stared at him.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Surely he wasn’t suggesting the Companions were threatening him with it?

“The enchantment placed upon this axe,” Ondolemar said, sneering at the thing, “makes the blade particularly deadly to those of _elven blood_. Which certainly explains part of Ysgramor’s success,” he added contemptuously.

“It’s…meant to be deadly specifically to elves?” Ryndoril asked, wide-eyed. Could the Companions really have given him such a thing? It felt like a cruel joke.

“It is,” Ondolemar said, holding up two fingers. “I even tested it myself.” Ryndoril could see two healed-over marks on Ondolemar’s fingers.

“What?” Ryndoril yelped, getting to his feet. “Ondolemar, you _tested_ it? What were you thinking?”

“I’m fine, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, arching an eyebrow. “I had the means to heal myself, and it wasn’t going to instantly kill me. But I could feel its power even with just this.”

“I can’t believe it,” Ryndoril said, taking the axe and brushing his lips across Ondolemar’s fingers almost instinctively. “They…they can’t have known about it.”

“Perhaps not,” Ondolemar allowed. “In any case, I suggest you rid yourself of the thing.”

“Right,” Ryndoril murmured, staring at the axe and feeling a bit betrayed. He would definitely be confronting them about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: please don't use soapy bath water as lube for anal sex. Stories are fun, real life has consequences, lol.


	7. Chapter 7

“I didn’t really expect you back so soon,” was Aela’s greeting when Ryndoril walked into Jorrvaskr. “Have you thought about what Kodlak said?”

“A little,” Ryndoril replied, and it was true; he had thought more about how much he _wasn’t_ going to do it. “Listen, Aela – this axe. It’s…”

“What?” Aela asked, and a curious Vilkas came over then, too.

“Something wrong with it?” Vilkas asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Do you know what it does?” Ryndoril asked.

“What do you mean?” Vilkas asked, frowning and taking it as Ryndoril held it out. “It’s a battle axe. You swing it.” Aela snorted.

“Just because we’re archers doesn’t mean we’re stupid,” Aela said to Vilkas. “What’s the matter, Ryndoril? Has something happened?”

“That axe has an enchantment on it,” Ryndoril said, feeling a little sick as he contemplated it again. “Something that makes it especially deadly to elves.”

“Well, yeah,” Aela shrugged as Vilkas laughed.

“You didn’t know that? It’s the legendary axe of Ysgramor,” Vilkas chided. “Stories have been told about it for hundreds of years.” Ryndoril stared. So they _did_ know.

“You do know I’m an elf, right?” Ryndoril asked, shocked. “Seriously?”

“Well, were you planning to use it on yourself?” Aela asked impatiently. “It’s not like it ought to matter.”

“Aela,” Ryndoril said, a little hurt by her casual dismissal of it, “this thing was meant specifically to kill elves. To kill those of my blood. How am I supposed to feel about that?”

“I think it’s kind of funny,” Vilkas admitted. Ryndoril noticed he seemed to have gained a bit more humor than he used to have. “After all, an elf using the blade Ysgramor used to defeat the elves? A nice irony in it.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I think it sounds funny,” Farkas chimed in. Ryndoril’s stomach sank. So they _were_ making fun of him. They _were_ using it as a way to mock him.

“I don’t find it very funny,” Ryndoril said coolly. “I’m not carrying that axe. One of you can have it; I don’t care.”

“Oh, come on,” Vilkas said, rolling his eyes. “We’re just joking around.”

“Well, it isn’t funny,” Ryndoril said, crossing his arms. “I don’t want the axe, and I don’t want the leadership,” he added. Vilkas’ eyes narrowed.

“Aela told us what Kodlak said,” Vilkas replied. “Are you really going to dismiss his wishes just like that?”

“For a guild who finds my elven blood _funny_?” Ryndoril asked. “I am. I don’t care who takes the position, but it’s not going to be me.” He was quite hurt; he’d done a lot for them, after all, and they just thought he was a funny little elf.

“Fine,” Aela said coldly. “Then go.” He glanced once more around at them; Aela’s cold eyes, Vilkas’ furious gaze, and Farkas’ confused look. He’d trusted them…and he hadn’t really meant anything to them. Ondolemar had been right.

“Then I’ll see you,” Ryndoril said, his voice surprisingly steady for the hurt he felt. He turned and left, feeling a strange sense of loss. He hadn’t been around the Companions that often, really; he’d spent more time with the Thieves Guild. The Guild, though…he could still feel welcome walking into the Ragged Flagon, no matter how long he’d been gone. He was sure of that.

He’d never _really_ fit with the Companions, after all; it was supposed to be an honorable path, but he’d just never felt ‘in’. He thought he did, he even made himself believe it, but it was never really true. Some of them were nice enough; he did get along rather well with Athis, the Dunmer. But now…well, the proof was in front of him. They thought it was funny to have an elf in the Companions.

“I take it it didn’t go well,” Lydia said sympathetically when Ryndoril walked into Breezehome.

“Not really,” Ryndoril shrugged, still feeling down. “But…it’s done. We’ll head back to Markarth tomorrow. Oh,” he added, remembering something. “One more thing I have to do.” He retrieved the sack of the witch heads he’d gotten at Kodlak’s behest. It was only right to give them to the Companions; he knew Vilkas, at least, wanted to be cured, and Farkas likely did, too. He wouldn’t keep that from them, whatever the circumstances.

Vilkas gave him a harsh stare when he walked back through the doors of Jorrvaskr, but Ryndoril simply held up the sack.

“The witch heads,” he said solemnly. “They can still cure you. Take them.” Vilkas regarded him silently for a moment.

“Thank you,” Vilkas finally said, taking the sack. “And…good luck to you, wherever you go.” Ryndoril managed a half-smile at the Nord before leaving again. At least this whole mess was behind him, he supposed.

That evening, he spent his time in the house with Lydia, drinking their way through Ryndoril’s supply of mead and wine.

“You’re better than that, anyway,” Lydia said at one point when they were both lying on Ryndoril’s bed, heads together and feet pointing opposite directions. “You don’t need them to laugh at you.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be on their side, being a Nord,” Ryndoril grinned.

“I probably should be,” Lydia admitted. “But somehow, you’ve kind of grown on me.” Ryndoril laughed.

“Thanks, Lydia, I like you, too,” the Bosmer replied, and Lydia snorted.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “You’re a good man. Or, well, elf. I’m honestly proud to serve you, you know.”

“I appreciate that, Lydia,” Ryndoril said sincerely, then turned his head to look at her. “Any chance I can get you to stop calling me ‘Thane’ yet, then?” Lydia laughed, blushing a little.

“I can’t help it,” she said. “I’m supposed to. But…well, if it really means so much to you, I could try.”

“You called me Ryndoril the other night,” he remembered. “When I stumbled out of that door.”

“You shocked me,” Lydia said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Then don’t think about it,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head and gazing back up at the ceiling. “I don’t call you ‘housecarl’ all the time. Wouldn’t you hate it if I did?”

“Yeah, I guess I would,” Lydia admitted. “But…it’s a title of honor, you know.”

“And I’d rather be your friend,” Ryndoril pointed out. “I’d rather you talk to me like a person.”

“Like Ondolemar?” Lydia teased. “I could start calling you ‘Ryn’, if you’d like.” Ryndoril laughed.

“If that’s what you’d like to do, go ahead, but I can’t promise Ondolemar will take to it,” Ryndoril said. 

“My dearest, _darling_ Ryn,” Lydia cooed before breaking into giggles. “The light of my life, the apple of my eye, the grapes to my wine.” Ryndoril was laughing as hard as she was now. “You know that’s what he’s thinking, even if he won’t say it,” she pointed out.

“Ah, leave him alone,” Ryndoril said, though he reddened with slight pleasure at the thought that Ondolemar regarded him as so precious. “I can’t even get him to _laugh_ around anyone else yet, what do you expect?”

“I will never understand what you see in him,” Lydia said, shaking her head. “He’s so damn full of himself, and that’s putting aside all the things the Thalmor have done.”

“Lydia,” Ryndoril said pleadingly, “don’t. I don’t want to fight with you about the Thalmor. He’s…he’s just…” Ryndoril trailed off, sighing.

“I know, I get it,” Lydia said finally. “You just like him anyway. I’d be a fool to not be able to see that much, at least.”

“I appreciate you putting up with him being around, when you’re there,” Ryndoril ventured. “Truly.”

“Anything for my _precious_ Ryndoril,” Lydia said, another fit of giggles coming over her. “Okay. That’s too hard to do.”

“So stop it,” Ryndoril chuckled. “Ah, I don’t know. I can’t explain it. He’s just…he’s really amazing. And I know you don’t see it, but when he’s around me…he loosens up a lot, and he’s actually really fun. He makes me laugh,” he said, his voice turning more tender. “And he’s…honestly sweet, and so kind to me.”

“Like the other day,” Lydia said dryly.

“But he didn’t mean it,” Ryndoril defended the Altmer. “Haven’t you ever said something you didn’t mean because you were upset? And anyway, he was right,” he added. “The Companions _did_ mean more to me than I did to them.”

“Still doesn’t excuse what he said,” Lydia replied, “but I guess you have a point. And he’s damn infatuated with you,” she added.

“Shouldn’t he be?” Ryndoril grinned cockily, and Lydia laughed.

“You _are_ pretty handsome, and nice,” she admitted. “But the sense of humor could use work. And the whole leaving-me-to-fight-wolves-while-you-pick-flowers thing.”

“Don’t lie, I’m hilarious,” Ryndoril grinned. “And you know I’ve tried to get better about that.”

“I know,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “But honestly, after you told me about your trip with him, I’m shocked he’s still interested in you.”

“Unfair,” Ryndoril said, pretending to be hurt. “Maybe he just likes me more than you do.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Lydia snorted. “ _I’m_ not head-over-heels in love with you.”

“He isn’t _in love_ with me,” Ryndoril laughed, his ears reddening slightly. “He likes me a lot, but he’s not…” he trailed off, unwilling to admit how much he wished it were true.

“Oh, right,” Lydia laughed, shoving Ryndoril. “Yes, he’s completely frantic when he finds you gone – enough to invade your house and see me half dressed, by the way,” she added dryly, and Ryndoril chuckled; he’d found Lydia’s rendition of that story far more amusing than she herself did. “He heals you without a thought, he’s totally obsessed with making sure nothing happens to you. Of course he’s not in love with you.”

“To be fair,” Ryndoril pointed out, “you’re worried when I go missing, and you’re kind of obsessed with making sure nothing happens to me.”

“It’s my job,” Lydia said. “Not that I don’t care for you, because I do, but it only started out that way because I had to. He had no reason at all to even look twice at you.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because no one’s going to be saying it,” Ryndoril said promptly.

“Why not? You’re in love with him,” Lydia pointed out, and Ryndoril went even redder.

“I am,” he said softly, an image of the Altmer’s kind face – the one Ryndoril only ever saw when they were alone – flicking across his mind. “But he isn’t ready to hear that.”

“All right, all right,” Lydia relented.

“And you’re one to talk,” Ryndoril shot back then. “Look at you and Argis.”

“What about us?” Lydia demanded, sitting up and staring down at the now-grinning Bosmer.

“Speaking of ‘obviously in love’,” Ryndoril taunted, and found himself with a pillow to the face. “Hey!” He pulled it away, laughing. “So you refuse to call me anything but your _Thane_ , but you’ll still hit me with a pillow?”

“Just shut your mouth, Rynsie-wynsie,” Lydia said, wrinkling her nose. They both lasted about a second before they burst into laughter.

“I think that wins for the most ridiculous nickname ever,” Ryndoril managed after a few moments, catching his breath. “And as your Thane, I forbid you to ever call me that.” Lydia laughed maniacally.

“Whatever you say, Thane Rynsie-wynsie!” Lydia was the one hit with the pillow this time, and she shoved Ryndoril off the bed for it. They both laughed until their sides hurt, everything made funnier than it ought to be by the wine and mead. He finally climbed back onto the bed, lying down next to Lydia again.

“Ah, Lydia,” Ryndoril hiccupped after a while, trying to calm himself. “I’m really glad I got you as my housecarl, you know.”

“I’m glad I got assigned to you,” Lydia said, a stray giggle escaping. “I could’ve ended up with someone like Erikur, could you imagine?” They’d both met the Thane of Solitude on one of their trips to the capital city, and he was horrible.

“That would be miserable for everyone involved,” Ryndoril agreed. “Good thing you got a handsome elf like me instead,” he grinned, looking over at her.

“Insufferable, I think is the word you’re looking for,” Lydia teased.

“If I’m that bad, you should have no trouble calling me by my name,” Ryndoril winked.

“Fine, _Ryndoril_ ,” Lydia smiled, shaking her head.

“And now maybe you can convince your boyfriend to follow suit?” Ryndoril suggested. Lydia laughed.

“I’ll try,” she nodded. She yawned then, stretching slightly, and got to her feet. “I should head in to bed.”

“Hey, that reminds me,” Ryndoril said, flipping over onto his stomach and propping his head up on his hands. She looked back at him. “I’m almost never here, and when I am, I’m alone. I think you should take this room.”

“What?” Lydia asked, perplexed. “No, I – I couldn’t!”

“Please,” Ryndoril said, perfectly serious now. “I know Argis visits you a lot, and you’d both be more comfortable in the bigger room. Just…uh…change the bed linens in yours first, all right?” Lydia reddened, and Ryndoril grinned.

“Are you sure about this, my Thane?” Lydia asked tentatively. “I mean – “

“We just went _over_ this!” Ryndoril said, tossing the pillow at the woman again, and she laughed as she caught it, throwing it back.

“Sorry, _Ryndoril_ ,” she said, shaking her head. “I just…it seems so inappropriate.”

“Less inappropriate than doing it anyway while I’m gone,” Ryndoril smirked, and she reddened further, staring at him in surprise. “It’s no less than what I’d do,” Ryndoril shrugged, grinning at her. “And I know you well enough to know you change the bed linens after _that_ , because you don’t want me to find out.”

“I hate you,” Lydia said at once. “I really do.” Ryndoril laughed.

“Yeah, well,” he grinned. “So how about it? You take this room, I’ll stay in the small one when I’m around.”

“And if your Thalmor lover’s with you?” Lydia asked, raising an eyebrow. Ryndoril sighed, the grin falling away.

“That doesn’t seem very likely,” he said. “He pretty much never gets to leave Markarth. But…even if it did happen…we’d work it out.”

“Well...” Lydia trailed off, still staring in surprise at Ryndoril. “Well, all right. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, Lydia,” Ryndoril smiled. “Come on.”

“Thank you,” Lydia said. “I appreciate it.”

“Good, then that’s settled,” Ryndoril said, nodding in satisfaction. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, my Th- Ryndoril,” Lydia corrected herself with a small smile.

“Good night,” Ryndoril smiled in return, glad that he’d finally convinced her.

*****

“I’m sorry, Ryn,” Ondolemar sighed, holding the elf to him as they lay in bed together after Ryndoril returned to Markarth. It was easy to see that the elf was upset, and Ondolemar was far more inclined to be sympathetic than to tell the Bosmer ‘I told you so’.

“Thanks,” Ryndoril murmured, still feeling down, though it was better in Ondolemar’s arms, as usual. “I appreciate you not mocking me.”

“Of course not,” Ondolemar said. With anyone else, he surely would, but he very much disliked seeing Ryndoril unhappy, and could never add to it. “You still have your Thieves Guild, don’t you?” Ryndoril smiled at that a little.

“I do,” he admitted. “And they’ve been more accepting of me all along than the Companions were. I just…I feel stupid,” he confessed.

“Ah, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, kissing the Bosmer’s forehead. “You needn’t. You are simply a kind, trusting mer. I can hardly fault you there, for how would you have ever begun to tolerate me if you weren’t?” he added with a smirk, making Ryndoril laugh.

“You have a point there,” he teased, and at Ondolemar’s sound of indignation he tilted his head up to kiss the Altmer. “But I’m still glad I did. Thanks, love. I needed this.”

“Anything else that may make you feel better?” Ondolemar inquired innocently. Ryndoril grinned wickedly.

“You know, now that you mention it…there just might be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's Friday, so have the rest of the story, I guess??
> 
> Anyway, this was a lot of fun to write, mostly because I enjoyed writing Ryn's interactions with Lydia. It was hard to write my babies fighting, but Ondolemar still mostly came around once he realized just how important Ryn really is to him! (He's not perfect, but who of us is? ;) )
> 
> Well, I hope you've enjoyed this story; I wanted to show their relationship growing a little bit, and it had always bugged me how that axe is the elf-killer! It was fun to write about that discovery, by an elf, and how the Companions might have reacted.


End file.
